The Jaws of Death, the Mouth of Hell
by nrynmrth
Summary: Jones is just about to brief him on the mission when a fair-haired young man storms through the door without knocking, hissing at the director, "Tell me why I just heard a rumour that you're sending an agent into SCORPIA." Because every great spy has a nemesis that just won't die.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm a bit of a commitment-phobe when it comes to my fics, meaning that I've never attempted to write one longer than a threeshot, but I think this one might end up longer than that. It was initially a oneshot, until I discovered exactly how far I could go with this idea. There's a bit of a cliffie, I warn you in advance, and my updates on multi-chap stories tend to be glacial at best, but I won't leave it unfinished. I'm sort of giddy at the thought of writing a long fic - wish me luck!

Disclaimer: I'd like to explicitly state that I don't own Alex Rider. I'm borrowing him for a bit. The title of this fic comes from "The Charge of the Light Brigade," by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. I don't own that either. Now that we've made it clear I own absolutely nothing, shall we get on with it?

* * *

John knocks softly on the door to the office of the head of MI6, nerves thrumming in his stomach.

A cool voice calls, "Come in!" and John turns the knob, entering the office with footsteps that sound too loud in the room.

"You called for me, Director?" he asks, closing the door behind him.

The woman seated behind the desk nods. "Have a seat, Agent Roberts."

He complies, unobtrusively observing his boss. Dark hair greying at the temples, laugh lines around a stern mouth, dark eyes that show no emotion. The scent of peppermint drifts toward him, sharp but not unpleasant. She turns her gaze on him and John meets her eyes with his, observations forgotten.

"John Roberts." It's not a question, but he nods anyway. "Three years in the army, selected for additional training after a deployment to the Gulf. Two tours, exemplary service, recommended with highest praise. Tell me, John, were you happy in the army?"

"Yes ma'am," John responds, wondering where this is going.

"Then why," the director asks, "did you accept our offer and transfer to MI6?"

John can't tell if it's an honest question or not, but he replies nevertheless. "I don't quite know, ma'am," he says honestly. "I suppose…I joined the army as a means to an end, as a way to help people and to feel like I was doing something. After a while, I felt like I was running in place – that no matter how many tours I did, I'd never make a difference. And then your offer came, and I decided that I might as well take it and try to do whatever I could."

Her expression doesn't change, but her eyebrows raise just a fraction of a centimetre. "I see. And you've been with us for...?"

"Two years now, Director."

"Tell me Agent Roberts, have you been on a mission?"

She's read his file, judging by the information she'd rattled off earlier, so he wonders why she asks. "A few, ma'am. One or two low-profile ones in Europe that weren't too major, mostly rescue ops with senior agents. One bigger op, though, down in Turkey – an undercover protection mission."

She nods. "So you're comfortable with going undercover, then?" she asks, seemingly casual, but John's getting tired of her games.

"Does it really matter if I am? Ma'am," John adds hurriedly, tacking on the honorific. "With all due respect, you could send me anywhere and I wouldn't exactly be able to refuse."

"This mission is different," The director tells him, dark eyes shadowed. "Understand this, John – I cannot guarantee you'll come back."

John blinks, startled by her use of his given name. "Pardon me, ma'am, but isn't that a danger with every mission?"

The corner of her mouth twitches in what he would call amusement, were she not the director of MI6. "Yes, I suppose it is. Nevertheless, this mission is not like any other you've been on – it is dangerous, Agent Roberts, and I wish to give you a chance to turn it down before you say yes."

"I understand, ma'am."

"Very well," Director Jones continues. "The mission will take place abroad, and during the op you will have no way to contact us unless you devise a system of your own. You will, essentially, be going in blind. In addition, the group you will be targeting will _not_ show you any mercy – in fact, they will be more brutal and vicious than any organisation you've encountered before. There is no certainty that you will come back alive, or that you will come back at all – and if you do, you will not be the same."

She's leaning forward over the desk now, eyes intense as she speaks to him. "You have every right to decline the mission – your work will not be affected, and neither will your place in this agency. It will be _dangerous_ ," she stressed, and John is bewildered and slightly alarmed.

"Why me, then?" he asks her, puzzled. "Why not one of your senior agents, or someone more qualified?"

She sighs, leaning back. "All valid questions. I chose you because you're used to fighting, and you don't project the appearance of a spy the way most of my senior agents do – you lack the paranoia, the constant wariness, the jadedness. Short of sending a child—" here her mouth twists "—you are the last person they will expect to be a spy in their camp, and that makes you valuable."

"I see." And he does – he's not skilled at espionage the way the senior agents are rumoured to be, not one of those born to this profession. "I'll do it, ma'am." He's not entirely sure why he accepts, really. Maybe it's what she said – that he's the only one unexpected enough to do this job. Maybe it's because he could finally make a difference the way he's been dreaming of his whole life. Maybe it's that he's young and green and expendable the way the senior agents aren't, and he doesn't want her to have to send one of her best home in a body bag. And maybe it's because of the barest hint of desperation and fatigue that slips past her mask to appear in her eyes that tells him he really is her last chance.

"Are you sure?" she asks, in a way that's so uncharacteristic of the head of an intelligence agency that he has to hide his surprise.

"Yes," he tells her. "I'm sure."

"Thank you, Agent Roberts," she says. "I'll brief you on the mission now – unless you have questions?"

John's about to shake his head when a thought occurs to him. "Actually, I have one. Since I've already agreed, would you mind telling me the name of this organisation?"

"Of course." Her mouth tightens and a shadow passes over her eyes as she recalls some distant, horrific memory. "It is focused on four main forms of crime – sabotage, corruption, intelligence, and assassination. It goes by the acronym SCORPIA."

-o-

Several floors below, in the technology division of MI6, Derek Smithers sets down the headset he'd been using to listen in on the head's office, face white. He picks up the telephone beside his desk and dials the number of the only person he knows who can help him. "Alex," he says hoarsely. "Sorry to bother you, but there's something you should know…"

* * *

(because of course Smithers listens in on the heads)

I'll definitely continue this, but I'd love some feedback on the first chapter, as well as some possible speculations as to where this fic'll go next...review?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here it is, the not-so-long awaited chapter two! It took me a while to write, but as one of my guest reviewers requested, 'Alex frickin' _reks_ Mrs. Jones.' Or at least I think so, anyway.

This chapter is dedicated to The Mishmosh Bird, who gave me the most wonderful review., speculating on a different path this story could have taken. I've incorporated some of those amazing thoughts into this chapter, but I've also written a completely separate version of this chapter for anyone who's interested. It won't continue into a full story, but if you want to see it (or if you just want details on the story), PM me!

I'm really excited for this story, especially since I have a week of break and thus time to write (I'm lucky enough to live in the only city in the US that has a break for Mardi Gras, which is awesome). I'll try to update again by the end of next week, so review and keep an eye out!

Disclaimer: Anthony Horowitz. Not me. _Not_ me.

* * *

Director Jones is about to brief John on the mission when a fair-haired young man storms through the office door without knocking. His dark eyes are wild, filled with a sort of desperation John's never seen before.

"Jones," he hisses at the woman, scarred hands clenched tightly. "Tell me why I just heard a rumour that you're sending an agent into SCORPIA." Those hands are shaking, John notes from his chair, trembling the way a spy's so rarely do.

"Who told you—" she begins, but he doesn't let her finish.

"Does it matter? And it was Smithers," he adds, forestalling her reply. "He thought I would want to know, and he was right. What the hell are you thinking?"

Briefly, John wonders exactly how this man can get away with yelling at the director of MI6, before his attention is drawn by Jones' response.

"I have to," Jones replies wearily, her dark gaze holding the man's. "They're making threats again."

"They always make threats," the man snaps back. "Tell me what's changed. Tell me why you're sending someone in _now_ , after so many years."

"I don't have to explain myself to you," the director says, but John can see that she doesn't mean it.

"Oh yes you do," the man retorts, every line in his body taut with tension. "When it comes to this, you know _damn_ well you owe me an explanation, and it had better be a good one."

"Alex—"

"Don't you _'Alex'_ me, Tulip Jones," the man snarls. "I know them better than anyone else in this entire agency, better than you and Blunt and even my goddamned father and his assassin protégé did. So you'd better tell me exactly what they want, _right now,_ before I go to Smithers and have him broadcast it to the world."

John is shocked, and it takes every bit of his self-control to hide it. He glances toward the director, analysing for a reaction to the visible insubordination this agent is displaying, but Director Jones just looks tired.

"As always, with SCORPIA…it's not so much _what_ the threats are, but rather _against whom_. They've found our moles, Alex. They've found every single mole we have planted in the Triads, the Yakuza, the mafia – and they're going to kill one for each day we don't deliver."

John pales dramatically. " _What?"_ he croaks, face ashen, but neither director nor agent are looking at him.

"What do they want?" Alex asks, all traces of previous emotion locked behind a steely mask, and here John sees everything the director had mentioned – the paranoia, the wariness, the jadedness. This man is battle-hardened and world-weary and utterly _born_ to be a spy in the way so many others are not (the way John himself is not), all wrapped up in a package that's _impossibly_ young. Because Alex is too young to be so experienced, the hardness in his eyes at odds with features that could belong to a man a few years younger than John's own twenty-four.

Jones sighs, replying her agent's question, and John turns his attention to her. "They want money, of course, more than we can pay. In terms of motivation, they want what they always want - power, influence, prestige. This operation is so potentially damaging not only because of the consequences of the loss of all those agents, but because this order doesn't come from a client – it was developed solely by the board members of SCORPIA."

"It doesn't make sense," Alex frowns. "Yes, they want money and influence and all that, but they wouldn't undertake such a risky op without another agenda." Suddenly, his eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. "Tell me, Jones, they've been honouring the agreement you made all those years ago, yes?"

"They have honoured it, yes, but—" and then her eyes go wide, wide with shock and slight horror. "Oh," she says. "Oh, I see."

Alex smiles grimly. "They can't touch me, not without breaking the agreement and having us destroy them, but they can sure as hell go after you, _all_ of you."

John still doesn't understand. "I'm sorry, what?" he asks faintly.

Alex looks at him then, a long, searching look. "How old are you, John?" he asks softly.

"Twenty-four," John tells him, still confused, and Alex closes his eyes.

"Of course you are," he murmurs. "You pick them younger and greener every day, don't you, Jones?" he asks, but the director says nothing, watching, like John, the silent battle her agent is having with himself.

"I'll go," Alex says suddenly, tension visible in every line of his body. "I'll go back, but don't you dare ever try to send some green agent into the heart of SCORPIA. Not now. Not when _this_ is what they're planning."

 _Back?_ John wonders, but his musings are cut off by the director's response.

"You can't go!" Jones protests instantly.

"Of course I can go," Alex says, barking out a rough laugh. "I don't need your permission – I have _never_ needed your permission." He meets her gaze, then, something passing between them that John can't understand.

"They'll kill you, Alex," Jones tells him, her voice low. "They'll kill you and I'll have to send your body back to Daniels and explain why I sent you there when I swore you'd never go back."

John doesn't know who 'Daniels' is, but the name sends _something_ skidding across the other man's expression before his gaze shutters again. Alex closes his eyes. "Let them kill me. Better me than him," he says, nodding towards John. "What's your name, anyway?"

"John Roberts," John tells him, and Alex's eyes fly open.

" _What?_ " he spits, staring at the director in shock. "You want to send a man named _John_ _Roberts_ into the heart of SCORPIA because you think he'll be safer there than I will? _Are you mad?_ " His eyes grow dark again. "Have you forgotten Albert Bridge, Director Jones?"

She flinches. "No," she whispers. "I'll never forget Albert Bridge."

"John Roberts," Alex whispers again. "JR. _John_."

John doesn't understand this latest exchange, but something in the way Alex speaks his name conveys a deep well of pain and memories.

"I don't have a choice," Jones says, and now her mask comes crashing down, releasing emotions the way John has never seen her do before. "CIA, ASIS – no one's willing to send anyone in. We're on our own with this one." She pinches the bridge of her nose, and suddenly she looks so much older than the ageless woman John had been conversing with.

"I know," Alex tells her, and his voice is softer, gentler. "I've always known you don't have a choice. Even when—" he hesitates, and somehow John knows it's because of his presence. "It doesn't matter. You don't have a choice…but neither do I."

"I swore to you you'd never have to go back," Jones says. "I _swore_ I'd never be like Blunt."

Alex winces at the name, but offers her a slight smile. "You're not. You've done everything you can to keep me away from them, but I can't let you send an untrained agent into their midst."

The words sting slightly, but John knows they're true, especially when compared to the obvious wealth of Alex's experience, evident in every motion the other man makes.

"The last time you went into SCORPIA, they damn near assassinated you," Jones says sharply. John sucks in a breath, and Alex glances at him for a moment, sending him a reassuring nod.

"I'm fine, Agent Roberts," he says, lips quirking, and John replies with a terse nod of his own. Alex turns back to the director. "The last time I went to SCORPIA, I went alone," he tells her. "I was also…younger." Jones winces again.

"Too young," she murmurs to herself, and John pretends he hasn't heard her.

"Agent Roberts can come with me," Alex says then, and John looks up suddenly. "It _is_ his mission, after all." There is an unspoken question for him there, John knows, and suddenly he's made his decision.

"I'll go." John speaks up. It would be easier, he thinks wryly, to go back downstairs to his office and pretend none of this happened, but somehow, he can't walk away. Not after seeing what this mission means to the two people in the room with him. "Seems important, yeah? If there's anything I can do, I'll do it."

Both Alex and Jones are analysing him, he knows, with two equally penetrating gazes, but John doesn't flinch. Finally, Alex gives him a faint smile and looks away, and Jones clears her throat.

"You're sure you want to go back." Jones' voice is composed, but John can hear the slight waver in her tone.

"I'm sure," Alex says without hesitating, despite the tension in his body and the darkness that shadows his eyes. John can practically see the other agent's shoulders buckle with the weight of this mission – he doesn't really understand the emotional baggage that accompanies this op, but he imagines that the only things keeping the other man on his feet are sheer strength and willpower. Alex's face is blank, though, if a little tired, and all he says is a soft, "Thank you, Director Jones."The woman nods stiffly, looking slightly upset. "Anything else?"

Alex nods. "Only one more thing – permission to call in outside consultants? SAS, the like," he elaborates, seeing her expression.

"And Smithers?" the director asks shrewdly, and Alex's smile, though slight, is genuine.

"Of course," Alex answers her. "He's been on my side since day one." For some reason, Jones winces at that statement, but neither acknowledge her reaction.

"I'll call you both in to brief you fully tomorrow," she tells them, including John in her gaze. He nods, unable to manage words, and Alex also affirms his presence. Jones turns back to Alex. "Say hello to Daniels for me," she says, eyes softening.

Again, that name – John still doesn't know who this 'Daniels' is, but he concludes that the mystery person must have some connection to MI6 in order to know the director.

Alex grins and seems to stand taller, as though the weight on his shoulders has lessened. "I will. Can we go now, Jones? I'd like to get home."

"Of course. John will be going with you?"

Alex turns his dark gaze on him now, and John resists the urge to gulp. "I'd like to discuss the mission with you, Agent Roberts, and introduce you to the other members of our team, if you don't mind."

John nods. "I'll go with you," he says, nerves returning.

"That's settled, then, Jones says crisply, and Alex moves to the door, gesturing for John to step out of the office.

"Goodbye, Jones," Alex says, hand on the doorknob, and a world of emotion and shared experience seems to pass between them as the director responds.

"Go home, Alex," she says, and Alex nods and closes the door, not missing the slight sigh from within as Tulip Jones covers her face with her hands and swears softly.

The two agents set off toward the lift at the end of the corridor and make their way to the ground floor wordlessly. It's as they're stepping out of the bank, Alex glancing at a certain discoloured section of the pavement, that John breaks the silence.

"So," he says, and Alex halts, looking at him. Even walking down the street, the other agent is a study in tension and alertness. "You know my name and my age, and I know absolutely nothing about you except that your first name is Alex and you have the balls to yell at the head of MI6."

Alex raises his eyebrows, but doesn't comment on his bluntness. "Your point being?"

John sighs. "Would you at least tell me your name?"

"It's Alex. That's all you need to know." The other agent's face has closed off completely, a far cry from the polite, if wary, features from before. "Names are powerful, especially in this line of work."

John is about to protest when Alex continues. "My name is dangerous," he says, and his eyes are pained. "It's safer for you – for all of us involved, actually – if you never learn who I am."

* * *

ahhhh I'm so excited! let me know what you think, _please_.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Horrifically late, I know. Many apologies, etc. etc. etc. Life's been hard and I barely sleep three hours a night anymore, so I haven't been able to make this my top priority, which I absolutely hate. I've got a chunk of chapter 4 written already, though, so that one should be out a little faster.

An update as to the alternate chapter I mentioned in the last chapter: I've sent it to a few readers as a DocX file, but I'm considering posting it as a separate story. I might add it at the end of my story as an extra, or something like that. Let me know which option you think is best!

Disclaimer: Nicht mein, nicht mein, nicht mein. Ich wünsche, aber leider ist es nicht möglich.

* * *

"No car?" John asks as they pass the garage and Alex keeps walking. It's the first time he's spoken since Alex's response to his question, and although he's still curious, he respects the other agent's privacy.

"Not today," Alex says. "Taking the same vehicle to work each day is one of the easiest ways to build a pattern and put yourself in danger – switching it up makes you less predictable. Safer that way."

John nods, storing away what is clearly advice, and they fall into an uncomfortable quiet. Thankfully, they reach the station relatively quickly and board the train in silence, Alex nodding to the driver. The agent stands, eyes closed, leaning casually against the wall of the train as it moves, and John resists the urge to rub the back of his neck in discomfort.

"So," John says to break the silence, inwardly wincing at the pathetic opening. "What's your house like?"

Alex's eyes fly open as he turns toward John, his face hard, and John realises suddenly that though Alex is only a few centimetres taller than his own height, the spy seems to tower over him.

"Listen to me." Alex's voice is cold. "I'm a spy. It is not in my nature to just let you inside my home after I've known you for all of an hour, so try not to bring it up, yeah?"

John nods awkwardly. "Yeah, okay."

"Good." Alex closes his eyes and leaned back once more. With nothing else to do, John looks out the window, a pastime he soon dismisses as pointless due to the endless dark tunnel walls that stretched out on either side.

He's just beginning to wonder what exactly this mission will entail when the other spy speaks again.

"Nervous?"

Alex's voice is detached, indifferent, and still with a hint of the coldness that was present a few moments ago, but John thinks he hears a note of slight compassion.

"A little," John says honestly. "Never done one of this scope before, and you and I both know I haven't got the skillset for this op. Jones chose me because I'm incompetent and thus inconspicuous." He doesn't mean for it to happen, but the words spill from his mouth like so much water, as though he's drowning in his fears.

To John's surprise, Alex smiles thinly. "No. She chose you partly because they'd never suspect you, yes, but also because from what I can see you've got a relatively cool head on your shoulders. You don't back down, but you don't piss off everyone in a mile's radius. You're inexperienced and untrained, but that we can teach you…the rest, we can't."

John isn't sure what to say, marvelling inwardly at how much insight the other spy has into his character after just a few minutes. "Thank you," he murmurs.

Alex nods. "Jones isn't one to send an agent into the field just for the sake of being unexpected," Alex tells him. "It's why she gave you a choice in this mission."

John's response is drowned out by the screech of the tube train as it halts at the station. Alex stands swiftly, tipping his head to the driver in thanks, and John follows, blinking as they emerge into the late afternoon sun into the street.

To John's slight shock, they're not in a wealthy neighbourhood approaching a penthouse, though a senior MI6 agent could certainly afford such a residence. Instead, they're on a middle-class street in Chelsea that's lined with two-story houses – the kind a banker would raise his children in. The house Alex leads him toward is similar to the others, if a little less well-tended, a few weeds cropping up here or there – something that makes sense, John realises, recalling the unpredictable working hours and travelling of a spy.

Alex's boots make no sound on the pavement as he approaches his house and goes to the door, pulling a key from somewhere on his person and unlocking the door swiftly.

"In," he tells John, jerking his head toward the interior of the house, and John obeys, taking in his surroundings.

The house is big but not overwhelmingly so, the kind of house that's good for young children and families. For a moment, John allows himself to wonder whether Alex has a wife and children, dismissing the thought after noting the impersonal nature of all the paintings and furniture in the house. There's a staircase leading up to a second floor near the door and a sitting room before him, and Alex is turning towards a doorway that undoubtedly leads to the kitchen.

John turns and manages to restrain the urge to jump. There's a man standing behind him, dark hair in slight disarray and blue eyes icy.

"Alex," he calls, narrowed eyes never leaving John's face. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

"John," says Alex, unperturbed by the unfamiliar man's glare, "this is Ben. Ben, this is John Roberts."

The dark-haired man appraises John with an eye that could only belong to a spy, wariness plain in his blue gaze.

"Pleasure," he says, though it's more a pleasantry than a true greeting. "Ben Daniels."

 _Daniels_ , John muses, recalling Jones' references to the name.

"There's a mission," Alex says as Ben turns to him. He pauses for a moment, as though sizing the man up, then adds, "A SCORPIA mission."

Ben's expression doesn't change, but there is a slight tension to the planes of his shoulders that wasn't there before, and his eyes on Alex are blank.

"I see." The words are clipped and terse.

John's not sure what makes him speak up. Maybe it's the memory of Alex's weariness as he accepted the mission, or the violence of the director's reaction when Alex volunteered for it, or maybe it's his own inability to keep him mouth shut. Whatever it is, something makes him open his mouth and say, "It's not his mission. It's mine."

Ben's blue gaze turns to him once more, those cool eyes analysing, but doesn't interrupt. John gulps slightly as the older man speaks. "How old are you, _John Roberts_?"

The pointed emphasis on his name does not go unnoticed, but John ignores it in favour of replying. "Twenty-four." Somehow, he's not surprised that Ben asked the same question Alex did.

"And before MI6?" Ben asks, still looking at him.

"The army. Paras," John tells him, and Ben nods.

"Paras," he repeats, glancing at Alex, mouth twisting wryly for a moment before smoothing out again.

Alex nods, weary. "Paras," he echoes, and they seem to reach a silent understanding. "Follow me," he says to John, turning to climb the stairs, and John follows, casting a single glance back to see Ben following them with his eyes.

"Here," Alex says as they reach the top of the stairs, motioning to the first door in the hallway. "Guest room. Washroom's down the hall, if you'd like to wash up before dinner. We'll be downstairs," Alex finishes, and John nods.

"Thank you," he says, not giving voice to any of the questions he wants to ask. Somehow, even with the inquiries running through his head, there's a bone-deep weariness that's creeping up on him, despite the earliness of the hour. So he just follows Alex out the door and makes his way to the washroom to wash his face and hands, mind whirling with information and questions and exhaustion.

* * *

In my current state of mind, reviews will probably make me cry with joy, and I need to release my emotions somehow. Also, I'd like an answer to my question about the alternate chapter, which I asked in my A/N at the beginning of the chapter. Oblige me?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:Wow. Okay. Erm...*coughs* It's been a while. _Really_ did not mean to go this long without updating. Life got in the way? School, mostly, and then Germany for the last three weeks (which was _so_ _awesome dear god)_ and am currently in Singapore, getting ready to leave for Chennai. Okay. Moving on. I _did_ post the alternate version of the second chapter in a new fic called _Lagniappes_ , which is essentially a dumping ground for oneshots related to this story that don't fit in the fic itself. Look out for an update to that story soon, because I've got a full rendering of a certain scene in this chapter coming up. Anyone want to guess which scene?

Now. Big announcement. SpyFest is back with a lovely set of July prompts - look for the SpyFest Revival thread forum or for fics tagged 'SpyFest 2017!' Week Two prompts are being posted now and voting for Week One is ongoing, so support your fellow fanfic writers :)

This chapter is dedicated to the lovely _wolfern,_ who posted a monster of a review on the last one and gave me such awesome feedback and encouragement. Thank you!

Disclaimer: Nicht mein. Wirklich.

Los geht's!

* * *

The cool water is refreshing as John splashes water on his face, thinking. _It's all so much_ , he muses to himself, picking up the towel hanging beside the sink and wiping the drops from his cheeks. _It's been a little over an hour since Jones called me up to her office, and yet things have changed so much..._

Finding a small bar of soap beside the sink, he rubs it between his hands, watching bubbles form between his fingers.

 _I agreed to this mission because I wanted to_ do _something, because I wanted to play the hero._

"'The hero,'" John repeats his thoughts aloud, scoffing. "I wanted to play the hero, and now I'm completely out of my depth, depending solely on two spies I don't know the first thing about." Water steals the bubbles from his hands, sending them swirling down the drain, and John looks into the mirror above the sink as he dries his hands.

"I'll have to wait and see, won't I?" he asks his reflection. "What's coming will come, and there's not a whole lot I can do about it besides try and keep myself alive."

With a shrug, he pushes the bathroom door open and retraces his path to the staircase, pausing on the third step at the sound of raised voices from the kitchen.

"—know exactly what it means," someone spits from downstairs. "Army, paras, _John_ —"

 _They're talking about_ me _,_ John thinks unnecessarily, ice forming below his ribs. Cutting off that train of thought, John forces himself to listen more closely, creeping down a few steps so he can hear them better. A part of him is chanting resolutely _'don't eavesdrop, not your business'_ in a voice that sounds suspiciously like his mother, but the rest of him is clamouring for more information, so John crouches on the stairs as the same voice (the one belonging to Ben Daniels, he realises) continues, "—not thinking straight—"

Alex fires back with "And you are?" and John is shocked by the turnaround in his personality – gone is the weary spy and in his place is a furious man. His voice drops, then, and John can't make out what's being said, until Alex resumes.

"I went to the bank," John hears Alex say, and the wealth of emotions in the other man's voice startles him.

Ben murmurs something, then, too soft for John to make out, and all is quiet for a while. He's just beginning to wonder if something's happened to them when he hears a slightly bitter laugh and realises belatedly that there are footsteps approaching the stairs where he's crouching. He straightens, meaning to look as though he'd been coming downstairs, and his gaze locks with that of Ben Daniels.

"Don't give me that innocent look," the older man says sharply, frowning. "You're a spy, if a relatively untrained one. I'd be more surprised if you _weren't_ eavesdropping."

John rubs his neck sheepishly, unsure of what to say, and Ben's eyes soften. "Come on, then. Alex is ordering takeout."

They enter the kitchen together, and John feigns interest in the menu on the table, pretending not to hear Ben's murmured " _You're right, he's just a kid"_ as he brushes past Alex. When he looks up again, both sets of eyes are fixed on him, gazes considering. Neither makes a move to pretend they were looking anywhere else, and John is strangely grateful for their directness.

"Chinese all right?" Alex asks, shoving a hand through his hair.

"Fine by me," John agrees. "Not like I'd eat any better at home – there's never food in my house, not when I'm always gone," he adds with a rueful grin, and Ben snorts.

"Life of a spy, that. Dangerous job, ridiculous hours—"

"—no vacation days, distance from friends and family—" John continues, his grin widening.

"—always looking over your shoulder, but at least there's good pay," Alex finishes wryly, huffing a laugh. "I'll call for takeout."

Ben hands him the phone wordlessly, and John notes the ease of the gesture, as though the other spy has done so hundreds of times. "You live here, don't you?" John blurts suddenly, and Alex laughs, tucking the phone under his ear.

"Yeah, he lives here. Too much room here for just me, and it's not like his flat's in any decent condition."

"Considering the last time it was used was six months ago when Simmons needed a place to stay after his girlfriend kicked him out, no, it's not in living condition," Ben says dryly, and John laughs. Alex turns away as the takeout place answers the phone, ordering in flawless Mandarin, leaving John to shift uncomfortably under Ben's analytic gaze.

"John Roberts," the other man says, glancing at Alex momentarily. "What do you know about SCORPIA?"

Out of the corner of his eye, John sees Alex stiffen, tension returning to his body. "Terrorist organisation, isn't it?" John says, affecting nonchalance.

"After a fashion," Ben agrees, "but it's more than that. Why do terrorist organisations do what they do?"

"Depends on what they want, doesn't it? Generally, it's to promote some kind of ideology, or maybe just to cause mass panic," John says slowly, thinking back to his days of training.

"Exactly. Terrorist organisations do what they do to support their cause—whatever that may be. SCORPIA, on the other hand—"

"SCORPIA does what it does for money and revenge." Alex says flatly, having hung up the phone. "Takeout'll be here in ten minutes. Can we continue this then?" John nods, slightly puzzled by the other agent's reaction. Ben moves to the cupboard to retrieve cups, filling them with water and placing one in front of Alex with a soft " _Drink it, it'll help_ ," but aside from that, the room is silent.

It's not a comfortable silence the way others have been between the three of them – Alex is too tense, his spine a steel rod and his jaw clenched. Ben, beside him, watches Alex, still aside from the occasional pointed glance to the untouched glass of water before Alex.

The sharp tone of the doorbell breaks the silence just as John begins to feel uncomfortable. Alex leaves to answer it, and John observes the way Ben's eyes follow, his concern evident.

"You're worried about him," John says, and Ben nods.

"I'm always worried about him," he admits, sighing. "We've known each other a long time, and it's not like he's got anyone else to look after him." _It's more than that_ , John wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut as Alex returns with their meal.

"So," John prompts carefully as Alex sets containers and chopsticks on the table.

"So," Alex agrees, sighing. "SCORPIA's motivations…like I said, SCORPIA generally operates for money or revenge. As to what their reasons are for this stunt, who can say? It could be either of the two—"

"It could be and most likely is both, and you know it," Ben interrupts, frowning.

"Money I can understand, but revenge?" John asks, bemused. "On whom?"

"On the entirety of MI6," Alex says tiredly, "and through them, me."

John sits back, digesting this. "On you." Ben nods, but John's still confused. "SCORPIA's a huge organisation, from what I've heard. What would they want with you?"

"How'd I manage to royally piss off one of the most powerful terrorist organisations in the world all by myself, you mean?" Alex asks wryly. "I killed a few of their board members and managed to upset at least two of their attempts at world destruction."

"Okay," John says, deciding to set aside this information for now. "So you screwed them over and now they want revenge?"

"Essentially," Ben tells him, eyes hard, but John's not done.

"But you're just one agent, and even though you're undoubtedly capable of taking care of yourself, everyone slips up sometime. Why don't they just assassinate you?"

Something cold and hard slides over Alex's face. "They tried." The look on his face warns John not to press the issue.

"There's a deal in place," Ben takes over in the ensuing silence, and Alex casts him a grateful glance. "SCORPIA can't touch Alex, not without violating the terms."

"So they come after the entirety of MI6," John says, understanding at last.

"Exactly." Alex's voice is heavy. "They expose our moles, weakening our ops while winning favours with other groups – everyone from triads to snakeheads to extremists will be out for our blood. It's not hard to imagine what kind of damage SCORPIA could do with tension like that."

"You don't say," Ben snorts, but his eyes are sombre. "Let's hope it _is_ money, because if they're doing this for revenge then it's going to be a hell of a lot harder to make this come out in our favour."

John's just about to ask why when Alex cuts in.

"Revenge, John," Alex says wearily, "means that SCORPIA doesn't care what we give them because they're angry enough to risk the wrath of an entire intelligence organisation. There is almost nothing we can give them to top that kind of vengeance."

John's chopsticks scrape the bottom of his container and he looks down, surprised at how quickly the time's passed and simultaneously glad for an excuse to break Alex's gaze. "What does that mean for us, then?" he continues after a moment, setting the empty container aside. "Money or revenge, either way we've got to stop this from happening. Where do we start?"

"Oh, I like you," Ben grins. "We start by making sure no one knows what we're doing. Keeping this quiet has to be our first priority, if that's even possible at this point."

"Why wouldn't it be possible?" John asks, confused. "I took the mission today and came straight here – no one knows about it except me, you two, and Jones. We haven't even done anything yet."

"How did Alex find out about it fast enough to burst into Jones' office, then?" Ben counters wryly. "You know Jones didn't tell him."

"And even though we haven't done anything yet, the fact that you've accepted this mission – a _SCORPIA_ mission – is sending ripples through the intelligence world as we speak," Alex cuts in. "It's only a matter of time before something happens – before something slips through the cracks and we're caught out." Alex's eyes are dark and serious, and John resists the urge to shiver.

"'Slips through the cracks?'" he repeats, brow furrowing. "A leak, you mean?" Ben's nod brings up a new set of concerns. "But then – for there to be a leak, there'd have to be a mole in MI6…"

Alex and Ben exchange glances before Ben says dryly, "There's always a mole in MI6."

At John's surprised expression, Alex clicks his tongue. "Oh, come on, Roberts," he chides. "MI6 has its fair share of enemies, enemies who are always trying to get a leg up. Spies, invincible godly beings as we may seem to be, are only human, and just as susceptible to bribery and threats as any other human. Hence, moles in MI6," Alex finishes, startling a laugh out of John.

"And," Ben continues, "it makes far more sense to _allow_ a mole, one about whom you know everything – to whom they report, why they've turned, what secrets they're selling – than expose said mole and have your enemy plant one you're unaware of."

"I see," John nods, hiding a yawn behind his hand, but the gesture does not go unnoticed by either spy.

"We'll pick up tomorrow, yeah?" Ben proposes, jerking his chin toward John, who flushes slightly.

Alex nods. "Sounds good," he agrees. "Guest room, John? You know where it is."

John shakes his head. "Haven't got anything with me. I'd rather go home anyway," he says, weariness flooding through him. "It'll give me a chance to wrap my head around some things."

Alex nods in understanding. "Your own bed sounds pretty good right about now, doesn't it?" he asks knowingly.

 _Glorious, actually_ , John thinks. "Something like that," he says instead. "Besides, home's not far – I'll take the tube."

"Be careful." It's not Alex who speaks, but Ben, and although they've only known each other for a few hours, the older spy's concern is evident.

"Watch where you're going," Alex continues. "Keep an eye on things around you – tails, cameras, and such."

"Safe over sorry," John supplies, and Ben nods.

"Exactly."

"Now that that's settled," Alex continues, "we'll see you here tomorrow at seven?"

"Here?" John asks, thrown off guard. "Not the bank?"

"This really is your first long-term mission, isn't it?" Ben asks rhetorically, amusement colouring his tone. "Really, what they're teaching at the academy these days I'll never know…"

Alex elbows the other spy in the side, unamused. "We meet here because the bank is so conspicuous," he explains to John. "The fact that the Royal and General is the head of SIS isn't known to the general British population, but it's no secret from our enemies." His mouth twists. "We can't risk them finding out what we're up to and coming after us."

John hears the ' _It wouldn't be the first time'_ that Alex doesn't say. "I see," is all he can manage, uncertainty again overcoming him. _What exactly am I getting into?_ "Until tomorrow, then," he says, because something in him tells him that Alex is not going to elaborate.

"Until tomorrow," Alex agrees, walking John to the door.

About to leave the house, John turns back suddenly. "What happens if they find us?" he asks, blood roaring in his ears.

Alex looks at him for a long moment. "Pray that they don't," he says flatly, and in the fading evening light his eyes are very, very old.

John nods, then, and walks out into the night, suddenly very much not tired and wondering just how long it will take SCORPIA to learn his name. Remembering the bleakness in Alex's eyes, he has a sneaking suspicion it won't be long at all.

* * *

As I said at the top of the chapter, a new lagniappe is in progress - it's a rendering of a certain scene in this chapter. Guesses as to which scene are welcome :)

Review?


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: glacial updates again, sorry...this chapter took _forever_. I've been struggling with the beginning for a while (seriously, I've been working on it for months) and I'm still not completely satisfied, so if anyone has any suggestions, I'll take them under advisement. On the bright side, I watched the film Atomic Blonde and it was one of the best things I've ever seen in my whole damn life. It also gave me a shit ton of ideas for this fic, so although can't promise the updates will be any more frequent, I've got things in the works.

Couple things for this chapter: for anyone who's read my oneshot "In the Bleak December," keep an eye out for a reference there (and anyone who hasn't read that story should go do so immediately after reading this chapter). It's pretty blatant, but I couldn't resist slipping it in :) . There's also a _Snakehead_ reference (with a tiny bit of poetic licence taken), so watch out for that as well.

Disclaimer: Nein, nein, neinneinnein, ich verspreche euch.

* * *

"Sleep well, did you?" Ben asks, eyebrows raised as he closes the door behind John. John, having seen for himself the bruise-like circles beneath his eyes as he shaved this morning, snorts as he steps into the house, pulling off his coat.

"Like a baby," he quips back. "Where's Alex?" He follows the other spy into the kitchen.

"Bank." Ben's studying him carefully, analysing, cataloguing.

"And we're—?" John begins, but the spy cuts him off.

"Actually, I want a word." The words are friendly, but Ben's features are stone. John swallows, nods, fighting the urge to run.

"I am a spy, John Roberts. What do you think that means?" The other spy is cool, aloof, _dangerous_ the way Alex had been when he'd stared down the director just the day before. Every nerve of John's body screams at him to flee, but he holds his ground, thinking. Ben waits patiently, relaxed against Alex's kitchen counter and watching him with that blue, blue gaze.

Eventually, John somehow finds the courage to raise his chin and reply, "I think it means that you don't always know what side you fight for. I think it means that you'll do anything to protect the ones you care about because you've already lost so many."

"Good." Ben smiles briefly, a brittle flash of teeth. "And do you know what I think, John Roberts?"

John's mouth is a desert as he croaks, "What?"

"I think you're young and green, or that you're making every effort to appear so. I also think that Alex is going to get himself killed for you because he's that kind of self-sacrificing noble bastard." Ben leans forward, gaze dark and diamond-hard. "I don't know you, John, and I sure has hell don't trust you not to screw up, not when we're dealing with bastards like SCORPIA."

"I understand," John tries to say, but Ben isn't finished.

"Do you? Alex and I have told you who they are, what they do, how far they'll go to get what they want, but that's different from living it first-hand. If you go through with this, if you work with us, you'll become a target. You'll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder and praying that they don't find you because if they do, there's a damn high chance you'll end up swimming with the fish in the middle of the ocean."

"Why are you doing this?" John whispers, voice rasping in his throat.

"Because I was you, once. I was a twenty-four year-old baby spy with no knowledge of what it's like to live in the espionage world. I was young and green and stupid and I nearly got myself killed."

"What happened?" John doesn't think he can breathe.

Ben huffs out a mirthless laugh. "I ran into Alex. I was in the middle of bloody Thailand chasing some SCORPIA terrorist, and then there he was, blowing up an oil rig in the middle of the ocean to save both our lives. I was lucky, then. I made it out with a shoulder shot – flesh wound, healed easily. Alex...Alex lost his godfather." Ben's eyes are far, far away. John doesn't dare interrupt. "Missions like this, the ones that are so fucked up we'll be damn lucky to get out alive, they _hurt_. Please, _please_ don't do anything stupid," Ben entreats, and John gulps.

"I'll try," he promises, the weight of the mission settling again on his shoulders. "Although, considering just how green I am I can't swear I won't mess up."

Ben's expression softens, and John gets the distinct feeling that he's passed some sort of test. "That's all we can hope for," he murmurs. "Bank, then, unless you haven't eaten?"

He hasn't, but John doesn't think he could swallow around the lead weight in his stomach. "Bank," he agrees.

-o-

Alex is waiting for them outside the bank when they arrive, leaning casually against the brick wall and looking for all the world like the picture of nonchalance. It's not until Ben steps up beside him that John notices the tension drain from Alex's shoulders as the steel of his spine uncoils. There's a stain by Alex's feet, John observes, a slight discolouration in the pavement that Alex's eyes repeatedly slide over.

"What's that?" John asks curiously. Alex tears his eyes from the pavement, meeting John's gaze, and for a moment fear and worry are naked in his eyes before his features smooth again into casual indifference.

"Yesterday, you asked me why SCORPIA didn't just send a sniper to take me out."

John nods, unsure where this is going.

Alex shrugs, eyes drawn to the stain once more. "I told you they tried."

John looks at the stain on the pavement again with dawning horror. "So when Jones said they tried to assassinate you…"

Alex doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to.

"They shot you on the doorstep of headquarters," John breathes. "That's why you didn't want to meet here," John rationalises aloud, "because even though it's HQ, it's not safe. Not for you – not for us."

Ben nods. Alex merely stares at the stain on the ground – _his bloodstain_ – and doesn't respond.

"Ready, John?" Ben asks after a moment, eyes never leaving Alex.

"Yeah," John exhales, the slight waver in his voice betraying him.

"You're not," Alex snorts softly, "but no one ever is. Inside." A sharp jerk of his chin to the doorman, who pulls the door open with a nod, and they're inside the bank.

John's been in this building so many times, knows the patterns of people better than the back of his hand, but somehow it's different. Suddenly, the receptionist smiling at her desk is a potential threat, the bankers (both real and not) hiding assassination plots behind briefcases and suit coats.

"Relax," Ben murmurs from behind him, hand on his shoulder guiding him toward the lift. John takes a deep breath, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. "Better. Would it kill you to smile? We're not walking to our deaths."

"Aren't we?" John mutters back, and from the corner of the eye, he catches Ben's smile. "Fourteenth?" he checks as they enter the lift, hand poised above the button.

"For us, yeah," Alex confirms, breaking his silence. "Ben's got something else to do. Smithers," he elaborates, and Ben nods.

"All right. Fill me in later, yeah?" Ben requests, pressing the button for the basement and jabbing John's finger into the fourteenth as he did so.

"'Course," Alex agrees as the lift stops. "We'll be down soon."

The doors close behind Ben, then, leaving Alex and John in the lift together.

"We're going to talk to Jones," Alex breaks the silence, and just as John opens his mouth to ask a question, the lift dings at the tenth floor, a middle-aged, stern-looking woman entering.

"Rider," she says without inflection.

"Greene," Alex replies, equally polite. "Training centre?"

She shakes her head, seeming to soften marginally. "I've got to see Felix, first – somehow, that man manages to send every single trainee down there into some sort of panic."

Alex grins lightly, all traces of weariness vanished. "His name's not actually Felix, you know."

"As he loves to remind us. Speaking of the training centre—I don't want to see you back there for at least another month, Rider," she commands, and Alex smiles.

"I'll try," he concedes, and Greene leaves with a faint smile. "I taught a session on field survival a little while ago – Greene tells me I made quite the impression," he elaborates, not looking at John.

"Alex," John begins hesitantly, and the spy whirls to face him.

"What, John?" he demands, fire igniting in his eyes. "Yes, SCORPIA shot me. Yes, when Jones and I were talking about them assassinating me, they tried to do it on the stoop of headquarters. _Yes_ , I almost died. It was years ago," he finishes, a threat glittering in his eyes. _I don't want to talk about it_ , they warn, and John backs off.

"Let's go," Alex orders stiffly, ushering John out of the lift and into the hallway. It's colder than it was yesterday, John thinks, glancing at the impersonal white walls and plain wooden doors that mark the offices of MI6's best and brightest. Then the door at the end of the hall is opening and an expressionless man is stepping out, nodding at Alex.

"Rider," he says, and is that a hint of guilt in his eyes?

"Crawley." Unlike his run-in with Greene, there is no warmth in Alex's greeting, and John shivers at the ice in his voice. Alex steps through the door to the director's office, then, and John puts the interaction out of his head for the moment.

"Jones," Alex greets the director tiredly, closing the door behind them.

"Alex, John," she returns, gestures to the chairs opposite her desk. "Sit. Yesterday I told you that SCORPIA's threatened our moles," she continues as they take their chairs. John hums his assent, Alex nods. "I assume you told him why?" This is directed at Alex, who nods.

"Money and revenge," John remembers.

"Not exactly," the director corrects. "Revenge, yes. SCORPIA's made no secret of their hatred of us. As for money...Yes, the criminal organisations of the world will pay to have the moles in their ranks exposed, but this is more than that. This operation was proposed and sanctioned by SCORPIA'S board itself. _They_ developed it."

"It's internal," Alex breathes, closing his eyes. "There's no client, no outsider."

"Why does that matter?" John asks, frowning.

"Because that means it's personal." Alex's voice is quiet, flinty. "Because when it's revenge, there is nothing we can offer, no deal we can make to stop them coming after us. Because they can't touch me – but they can't let me go, either."

"Why now?" John croaks eventually. "If it's been years, then why _now_?"

"Because we've become complacent," Jones explains, sighing. "They let us think we were safe while they laid low, gathering their strength, compiling a list of our moles…and now they're going to take us down."

"Of course they are," Alex murmurs bitterly, his eyes thousands of miles away.

"The official filing," the director tells them, sliding them a folder across her desk. Alex picks it up, slips it into his coat, knuckles white. "It's got everything you'll need, including my explicit permission for you to call in outside consultants. Alex," she continues as the spy stands, "be _careful_."

"Worried about me, Jones?" Alex asks lightly, but his eyes are sincere and grateful.

"Always," she replies softly.

"We'll be careful, Jones," he reassures her. "Ben won't let us do anything too reckless." She smiles at that, and his eyes soften. "We'll be okay," he says softly. "We always are."

"Go see Smithers," she orders. "I'm sure he's been listening to this conversation anyway."

"Bye, Jones," Alex says quietly, and John hopes it's just his imagination telling him that Alex sounds like he'll never see her again. They leave in silence, interrupted only by the ping of the lift and the hum of machinery as Alex presses the button for the basement and the lift whirs to life.

"Smithers is in Q department, yeah?" John asks, and Alex nods, studying him slightly.

"You've never met Smithers, have you?" the other spy asks at last, and John shakes his head.

"Heard lots, most of it likely untrue, but no, I've never met him," he admits.

"Don't worry about it," Alex assures him. "Smithers mostly works behind the scenes, developing his products. Generally, field agents don't meet him until they need really specialised gear." His mouth twists, then, sarcastic wryness edging his voice as he continues, "Some are lucky enough to go on enough suicidal missions to see him on a regular basis."

"Q department," the lift's cool voice declares, and Alex guides John toward a large glass laboratory. Stepping through the door, John is instantly overwhelmed. The room is loud with technicians and worktops, the occasional loud bang resulting in slightly singed eyebrows. Then he's following Alex into a large workroom and stopping short, staring.

Ben's leaning against the far wall, he notes distantly, arms folded and yet more approachable than he's ever seemed. But John's attention is primarily focused on the worktable in the centre of the room. One of the fattest men he's ever seen is standing over a worktable, thick fingers somehow handling delicate machinery with ease.

"John Roberts," Alex grins, looking lighter than John's ever seen him, "meet Derek Smithers."

* * *

Diiiiiiiiid you catch my references? Let me know through a review!

(okay, it's 2:00 AM here, so time for sleeps. bye, y'all)

\- nrynmrth


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Wow, I've been gone a while. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it! Many, many most sincere apologies for my extended leave of absence last semester. Life's recently gotten a lot less complicated (read: I'm no longer up til four-ish in the morning working), so I'll hopefully have a lot more time to work on this fic. It's not like I'm writing anything else, especially considering I don't even want to open my NaNo project...yikes.

Shameless fic exchange insert: MC Butler is running a spring fic exchange, so check out the Revival forum for updates on that.

Welcome to the latest installment of 'The Jaws of Death, the Mouth of Hell!'

* * *

"Alex!" the man cries, looking up from his work and pulling a tiny pair of spectacles off his nose. He reaches over and shakes Alex's hand, a gesture which the spy returns readily.

"Hello, Smithers," the spy says, and is that _warmth_ in his tone? "What've you got for me, old friend?"

Smithers sobers instantly. "Not a lot, not this time, I'm afraid," he says. "There's not much you can take with you that they won't notice, from what Ben's been telling me."

John glances over to where Ben leans against the wall, and the other agent shrugs, resigned. "It's SCORPIA," he sighs. "We'll be lucky to keep half of what he gives us."

Beside him, Alex scrubs a hand over his face. "Is there anything you _can_ give us, Smithers?" he asks.

"Oh, I've got a few things," the gadget man replies instantly, "starting with these." He opens a packet of strange-looking, flesh-coloured beads, passing one each to John, Alex, and Ben, and John is startled to see it looks like a small speaker. "Earwigs," Smithers explains. "Newest model. They won't show up on scanners or detectors, although a good electrical pulse will short them out."

"Brilliant," John marvels as Alex pockets the earwigs, and Smithers turns an analytical gaze on him. "John Roberts," he offers nervously, holding out a hand.

He's met with a firm handshake. "A pleasure, John Roberts," and John should really stop being surprised by the way these people say his name like he's someone they know (someone they miss). "The earwigs are linked to each other, and to this phone," Smithers continues, handing a mobile to Ben, and John exhales quietly as that penetrating gaze is directed elsewhere. "Whoever's got the mobile has control of the earwig connections. 999's a distress beacon to me, and I'll pass it on to Jones. Don't use it if you can help it, though, because that call won't be encrypted—if you're not already caught, you will be once you use it."

"Of course we will be," Ben murmurs sardonically. "Because god forbid anything ever be easy. Tell me you've got something else, Smithers," he half-sighs, and the heavyset man sends a faint smile in his direction before turning to Alex.

"I've cobbled a few things together, mostly things you and Ben have seen before," Smithers says, handing Alex a briefcase. "They're all in here. I've also included some basic disguise material, but there's not much I can do in that department."

Alex's smile is both genuinely grateful and quietly resigned. "I know. Thanks, Smithers, for everything," he says, and John knows they're no longer talking about the gadgets.

"Always." The large man is sincere, determined. "I'll see you soon. Give my regards to the rest of your team," he finishes, and Alex nods.

"Of course." He hesitates, then, and Ben comes to stand beside him, the two of them regarding their old friend for a long moment. "If we don't make it back—"

"Don't," Smithers interrupts, voice firm, but Ben shakes his head.

"If we don't make it back," he repeats, "say goodbye to Jones and the others for us, will you?" His voice cracks faintly, and Smithers nods immediately.

"Yes. Yes, of course I will. Take care of yourselves—you too, John," he says, including him in his request. "I'd like to see you all back here safely."

"Goodbye, Smithers," Alex says instead, motioning Ben and John to the door.

"Goodbye, Alex," Smithers says quietly, closing the door behind them.

"What now?" John blurts, breaking the silence as they enter the lift.

"Now," Ben says as they exit and cross the lobby, "we go home. We plan, we call in allies, we look over the file."

"And then?" John asks, following the other spies out of the bank and into the crisp air.

"And then we finish the op," Alex completes softly. "No matter the cost."

They return to Alex's house in silence.

* * *

"Okay," Ben starts as soon as they're back in Alex's kitchen, leaning across the table. "What's our plan?"

"We call our team," Alex decides, turning the file over in his hands as he leans against the wall. "There's no way we're doing this as a three-man job, even with Smithers and Jones backing us up."

John leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. "So who do we call in? Who _can_ we call in, especially if there're moles to worry about?"

"The people we trust," Alex explains simply. "The ones we know will have our backs. Ben, call Eagle, tell him we need them. Use the burners in the linen closet," he directs his partner, and John raises his eyebrows as the other agent leaves.

"You keep burner phones in your linen closet? Hang on, you _have_ a linen closet?"

Alex shrugs. "Good place to hide things. Who's going to look behind sheets and pillows for burner phones and comms devices?"

"Fair enough," John concedes. "So what're we doing while he does that?"

"We go through this," Alex tells him, setting Smithers' briefcase on the table. "See what we've got to work with."

John nods his understanding, reaching over to open the case and pulling out a couple tubes of… "Zit cream? Lotion? Not what I was expecting," he admits. When he looks over, Alex is grinning.

"It's a corrosive paste," he explains. "It'll get rid of any metal in about twenty seconds. Smithers gave me some for my first mission, and I've asked him for some ever since."

"There's a note," John notices, pulling out a small card. "Apparently, the zit cream's the metal corrosive, but the lotion's extra strength glue and the…toothpaste? Yeah, the toothpaste's a sort of explosive putty."

"What's next?" Alex asks, setting aside the tubes as John hands over the cards. "Tell me he's given us a bug finder."

"Think this is it," John says, handing him a camera. "I'm guessing it's got loads of other functions as well—seems like our best bet for that sort of thing."

"You're probably right," Alex agrees. "We've got a tech specialist coming over soon—he'll be able to tell us more about what it does."

"They'll be here in about twenty minutes, considering we caught them on leave," Ben interjects, entering the room with a small bag slung over his shoulder. He sets it down on the table with a faint clatter. "Burners and comms," he explains at John's curious glance.

"Hang on," John starts, a new thought occurring to him. "Didn't you just tell me yesterday that it was dangerous for us all to meet in one place? And this is your _house_ ; what if they track us back here?"

Alex lets out a humourless laugh. "SCORPIA've been after me for years—they know where I live, John. It's hardly a secret."

"So how are we safe?" John demands.

"There's a deal," Alex explains. "They can't touch me, not without the entirety of '6 coming down on them."

"But if other people start coming here…" John tries, still worried. "Won't the house become a target?"

Alex and Ben lock eyes, and Alex swears under his breath.

"He's got a point," Ben offers.

"Yeah," Alex agrees. "Hadn't thought of that. Good work, John," he praises, but John knows his mind is elsewhere. "It's too late to stop Wolf and the rest from coming over, but we'll find a safe house for the rest. Christ," he hisses, "how did I miss that?"

Ben regards him for a long moment. "Because this op is close to you, Alex," he tells him quietly. "And because despite your success rate, you're not infallible. This is why you have us."

Alex smiles faintly at that. "Yeah. Going soft in my old age, I suppose."

John snorts loudly, surprising even himself, and Alex raises his eyebrows. "Something to add, Roberts?"

"If you're going soft, the rest of us are practically letting SCORPIA and the rest walk straight into the bank carrying a damn grenade launcher," he says bluntly, and Ben laughs.

"Oh, I knew there was a reason I liked you. Welcome to the team, Roberts," he grins.

John grins back.

* * *

They're going through the last of Smithers' gadgets when the bell rings.

"I went last time," Alex says, not looking up, and Ben sighs.

"You and Wolf ever going to get over your… _snit_?"

"'Snit?'" Alex repeats, looking faintly amused. "Where'd you pick that one up—from Crawley? Seems like the sort of thing he'd say," he muses, and John snickers.

 _"_ _Alex_ ," Ben warns, and the other spy sighs.

"What do you want me to say, Ben? He made my life hell, I kicked him out of a plane, he saved my arse, I saved his. He's your unitmate; I trust him to watch your back. We don't have to be best mates," Alex retorts, and Ben pinches the bridge of his nose as the bell rings again, harder.

"Been years and you two are still the most _juvenile_ people I know," he mutters, heading out of the room.

"Kicked him out of a plane?" John repeats weakly. "Please tell me that's not how you treat all your friends."

"Long story," Alex shrugs, "not mine to tell."

"I meant to ask," John starts, abandoning that topic, "what is it with the animal names?"

Alex grins. "SAS. It's how they name their soldiers. K-Unit—that's their designation—was Ben's unit before he joined up with '6. Mine, too, for a little while."

Then Ben's returning, leading four men into the room, and John stands as Alex does, regarding them warily.

"Cub." The first man's the one to make the greeting, olive-toned features set into a scowl.

"You know my name, Wolf," Alex scowls back.

"Doesn't mean I have to use it," Wolf retorts. "You'll always be Cub to me, kid who spent two weeks in basic and kicked me out of a goddamn plane—"

"—come to think of it, you never did thank me for that," Alex returns instantly. "Didn't I save your career?"

John's eyes flick back and forth between the two as Wolf's face twists in anger.

"You little _shit—_ " He breaks off, glaring. "Christ, you can still wind me up like no one I've ever met."

"It's a talent," Alex agrees amicably, and then John blinks as he shakes the soldier's hand. "Good to see you, Wolf."

"Yeah, you too, Alex."

"Why you two insist on engaging in this pissing contest every single time you meet, I'll never understand," Ben grumbles.

"Keeps me on my toes," Wolf shrugs. "'s good practise for when Sarge decides to put me in charge of the brats."

Ben laughs at that. "He still got you four training recruits every spring?"

"Does he ever," another man growls. "You going to introduce us, Fox?"

"Yeah, Tiger, keep your pants on," Ben tosses back as the man glowers. "Wolf, Eagle, Snake, and _Tigger_ ," he points out to John, who smiles inwardly at the exaggeration of the soldier's name. "You four, this is John Roberts."

"'6?" The man John now knows as Snake asks, studying him keenly.

Ben nods. "Yeah, he's with us."

"Why'd you call?" Eagle demands then, grey gaze sharp with impatience.

"We have a problem," Ben answers, glancing over at Alex. "There's this terrorist organisation, and, well…"

"Spit it out," Wolf orders gruffly. "We haven't got all day."

"It's SCORPIA," Alex tells him, folding himself into a chair.

"Who the hell—"

"Wolf," Ben interrupts. "Do you remember the time I was seconded to '6?" The soldier nods, confusion still written into his features. Ben sighs. "Yeah well, they were the ones who shot me."

"They did _what_?" The anger is back in Wolf's face, now, and John shivers.

"They shot me," Ben shrugs, and Wolf lets out a low snarl.

"Enough!" Alex barks, voice sharp with reprimand. "We've got more important things to discuss."

Wolf looks over at Alex incredulously. "More important things? They shot him!"

"I know," Alex retorts. "I was there. We done?"

Wolf is silent for a moment, then—

"Yeah," he concedes at last. "We're done."

"Good. Now, SCORPIA and I have a…nasty history," Alex grimaces. "'6 made them a deal—they don't touch me, and we don't interfere with most of their ops."

"What changed?" Eagle speaks up, eyes narrowed.

"They can't go after Alex…but they can go after MI6. They've got our moles, a whole list of them they're planning on revealing and killing. Every organisation we've infiltrated long-term, every spy we've planted…they'll all die." Ben's voice is bleak.

"They've killed one already," Alex takes over, voice hollow. "Pearson. He was our mole in the Triads. They sent a video." He lowers his voice to barely a whisper. "I trained him."

All four soldiers wince at that, Wolf letting out a quiet, "Christ, Alex."

Ben hands the soldiers a photo, and John recognises the black-and-white image as a still from the video SCORPIA had sent.

Snake flinches, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus."

"They don't mess around," Tiger agrees, face drawn.

Eagle's features are set in stone. "Timeline?"

"No idea," Alex shrugs wearily. "It's more than a couple days, we know that much, but…it could be anywhere from a week to a month."

"So what's our plan?" Wolf asks, clearly itching to get started.

"We leave," Ben answers. "It's too conspicuous in London, especially with '6 HQ here."

"Where will we go?" John wonders out loud, faltering slightly when all attention turns to him. "Well, SCORPIA's an international organisation, right? Where can we go where they can't touch us?"

"We need a safe house," Tiger puts in. "A base of some sort."

"Preferably near a city where we have contacts," Wolf continues.

"We'll need access to airports, and it's less conspicuous to be flying out of a city than a private airport in the middle of nowhere," Snake agrees.

"In Europe, most likely," Ben adds. "Centrally located, so that we can move easily—Germany or France, maybe?"

A slow smile spreads across Alex's face, then. "Berlin," he decides. "We'll go to Berlin."

* * *

Drop a review on the way out or don't bother coming back. RAWR.

(jk, but a review would be lovely.)

\- nrynmrth


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Wow, it's been awhile. Those of you who read my Easter fic exchange response know that I lost a great deal of this chapter due to computer problems, but I've managed to finish it at last, so here it is! I've also submitted this story for my Camp NaNoWriMo project, so I'm going to try to have the whole thing written by the end of April. It might not all be published by then, because I'll probably go back and clean it up, but the updates should get a lot more regular, so there's that.

I'm also unbelievably inspired by the film _Atomic Blonde_ , which takes place in Berlin, 1989, and has one of the most incredible soundtracks ever.

Disclaimer: Not mine - is it ever? The few places mentioned are real and can be searched up with ease.

* * *

John spends the entire plane ride with sweaty palms and an incessant need to look over his shoulder, so much so that Wolf, with whom he's sharing the flight, traps him by the lavatory to tell him to _'Calm the fuck down, kid.'_ It's been three days since Jones gave him the mission, two since their meeting in Alex's house, and one since they finalised travel plans, and in the last twenty-four hours, John has tried to reassure himself exactly eighteen times. It hasn't worked yet.

It's not his first time out of Britain by any means, and not even his first outside mission, counting the one he'd done in Turkey years back, but for some reason, everything about this plane ride rubs him the wrong way. It might be the thought that every single person on this flight save him and Wolf could be a SCORPIA agent.

 _Stop being so paranoid,_ he tries to tell himself. _It's only a couple hours, barely long enough to watch a decent film_. It doesn't stop him from rereading the same page in his book at least ten times because the words won't stop blurring before his eyes.

He remembers the day they'd planned it. They'd arranged every detail meticulously. Alex would arrive first, they'd decided, setting up the safe house and scoping out any potential hazards—he knew the city best, had the most contacts. Next would be John and Wolf, and then Ben, Snake, Eagle, and Tiger, arriving by train. Their covers had varied, too—army buddies celebrating time off together, a businessman in town for a conference, a uni student visiting family. Everything had been arranged with the collective intelligence of two spies, four SAS soldiers, Smithers, and John himself, and yet he can't shake the apprehension that coils in his stomach.

"Prepare for landing," a flight attendant's voice sounds calmly over the intercom, and John feels his muscles unclench slightly. _Thank goodness_.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Wolf flash a hand signal, the type taught to all members of SIS. _Remember the plan_ , Wolf's fingers say, cleverly hidden in his lap, and John nods quickly. He wonders if the SAS teaches its recruits the same signals, then decides he doesn't care. _The plan_ , he reminds himself. _You collect your case and get off. There's a car waiting, courtesy of one of Alex's contacts. Wait till he gives you the safe word. Wolf will find his own way._

The plane shudders, then, and John has to fight to keep his relief from showing as the wheels hit the ground. He gives Wolf a small, discreet nod and stands, reaching for the briefcase he'd packed under Alex's watchful eye two days previously. The leather handle warms under his slightly sweaty palm, but its weight is reassuring as he steps off the plane and into the airport.

"Passport?" the woman at the counter asks in heavily-accented English, and he jerks out of his thoughts, handing his documents to her with a patently false smile and a nod. He clenches his hands into fists to stop them shaking as her eyes rake over the passport that reads 'John Rivers' and the papers that declare him to be in his late twenties.

She gives a sharp nod, then, handing his documents back, and he almost goes weak in the knees with relief, just managing to lock his knees and offer her a smile.

"Thank you," he says, and he almost means it.

He walks past her, eyes on the doors of the airport, Alex's instructions sounding in his brain: ' _Walk out of Tegel and turn left. Two blocks away, the car's waiting for you.' 'Black?'_ John had joked, and Alex had graced him with a faint smile that didn't match the intensity in his eyes. _'Actually, no. Black cars are for important people, and John Rivers is no one. The car's blue.'_

He steps out of Tegel Airport, walks the requisite blocks, and there it is, as promised—sky blue and slightly dented, a dark-haired man leaning against it.

"John Rivers," he greets quietly, accent vaguely European. John regards him carefully, neither confirming nor denying the greeting as he waits. "Bags?" the man continues, and John shakes his head, heart sinking. _He didn't say it_.

"No bags, I'll not be staying long," he manages to croak, throat dry. _'The luggage'll come on the train with the others,'_ Wolf's voice reminds him sternly, _'we can't go bandying it about that we're leaving for who-knows-how-long.'_

"Not staying long, then?" the other man asks, reaching to open the door for him. Mutely, John shakes his head, and the man shrugs. "Pity. It's a lovely city. Perhaps not quite as grand as London, or even Giza, with the Sphinx—"

And John's almost sighing, body humming with relief. _There it is. The safe word_. He looks up, then, to see the man watching him with a faint sort of amusement, and an unwelcome flush heats his ears. He clears his throat. "I'm sure it is. Can't wait to see it."

"Good," the man nods. "Get in." There's something about this man that unsettles him, something predatory in those dark eyes and white, white smile. John obeys, flashing one last glance around the airport, tugging his case into the seat beside him.

The man starts driving without prompting, and John looks up, curious. "What's your name?" he blurts, realising he really has no idea who this man is.

"Wilhelm," the man answers, meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror.

"Ah," he nods, unsure of what to say, unsure if Wilhelm is this man's real name or if the title is as false as _John Rivers—_

"We will be there soon, Mr. Rivers. Perhaps you would like to sleep, or open the window? I understand jet lag can be quite debilitating," Wilhelm offers, and John nods, grateful for the out.

"I might, thanks. Tegel isn't in the city centre, is it?"

Wilhelm shakes his head. "It is not. Tegel is in the west of Berlin, near Reinickendorf, and I am taking you to Schöneberg, further to the east."

"I see," John says noncommittally, even though he really doesn't. Reaching into his case, he withdraws a slip of paper marked merely with a 'J' as he'd been instructed. The note is brief, Eagle's words clipped and to-the-point just as he is. _Two blocks west, five north._ _Blue shutters. Don't be followed._

John swallows, thoughts whirling. _So even Wilhelm isn't to be trusted with the location of the safe house._ A bitter smile crosses his face, then. _Haven't you heard, John Roberts? No one is to be trusted._ Again, the feeling of helplessness, of sheer incompetence rises in him, and he clenches his hands into fists, willing his face to stay blank. It's a losing battle, and he feels the panic well up in him—

Ben's advice is like air to a drowning man. ' _Who are you?'_ he'd asked, his calm, collected nature at odds with the urgency of their situation. _'Pardon?'_ John had answered, and Ben had explained, _'That's the question you need to answer, always. Whether you're undercover for long periods of time or for the duration of an auto ride, know who you are. Who is John Rivers? How does he behave when he's in a rush, when he's happy, when he's on his way to work?_ That's _the secret to going undercover.'_

So John takes a deep breath and sinks into his cover as he'd been taught, shedding everything that makes him _John Roberts_ and replacing it with John Rivers, English accountant heading to Berlin for a conference, supposedly—wealthy, in a bit of a rush, and decidedly boring.

"So, Wilhelm," he says, "any idea how much longer it'll be? I've got to make this conference."

The other man's eyes flash with something like amusement, but despite John Roberts' slight embarrassment, John Rivers doesn't react. "Perhaps five minutes," the German man answers, and John nods.

"Thank you," he answers politely, and turns to look out the window, for all intents and purposes passing the time. In reality, though, he's going back through Eagle's letter. _Blue shutters. Two blocks west. Five blocks north._ And the last instruction, the most important— _don't be followed_. A month ago, a week ago, even, he'd have scoffed at the thought of someone following him with this cover, because who could possibly care about an accountant? Inwardly, he grimaces at his younger self's naïveté.

The car pulls over on the right side of the road, then, stopping in front of a tall, elegant hotel building. "We have arrived, Mr. Rivers," Wilhelm tells him, and John collects his case, giving the other man a nod and a polite, 'thank you.' Stepping out of the car and onto the kerb, he walks purposefully toward the hotel building, nodding at the concierge and settling down in one of the lobby chairs.

 _Two blocks west, five blocks north._ John opens his attaché again, this time passing over the slip of paper with Eagle's writing inside in favour of the compass beneath it. Memorising the correct direction in which to walk, he makes his way out of the building, careful to keep a harried look on his face as he walks down the street (that's one block north, four more to go) and turns left.

The air is cool on his face as he turns to glance behind him, checking for tails under the guise of looking at his watch and frowning— _'don't be followed,'_ Eagle had written, and John intends to follow through. _Grey suit, burgundy tie_ , he notes, remembering the man as one of the patrons of the hotel he'd been dropped off at and a customer at a small store he'd passed. _I'll have to lose him_ …Spotting a street vendor up ahead, John takes his chance, ducking into the crowd waiting in line and hiding his face with a menu. His tail joins the line behind him, and John swears under his breath. Thinking quickly, he shrugs off his dark coat, turning it inside out so that the lighter silk lining faces the elements. Then, with one last surreptitious look at his tail, he ducks into an alley on his right.

Moving quickly, he strides down the street, scanning intersections for familiar faces before continuing on. Another right, then two lefts, and he's heading west again, and John allows a tiny bubble of pride to fizz and pop within him at having lost his tail…

Then he hears it, the faint footsteps that dog his every move. _Damn it_. Stopping by a glass display, he checks his reflection, swearing as he spots the grey suit jacket, the corner of a maroon tie peeking out from one pocket. Heart thumping as his tail draws closer, John turns into the least busy street he could see and takes off running, dodging pedestrians and dogs alike. A brief glance backward reveals his tail in hot pursuit, and John increases his speed, swerving around corners, trying not to trip over the occasional stray cat. _Shit,_ he swears, chancing a look behind him and realising that his tail's been joined by another man in a dark jacket, hood pulled up so John can't see his face. _Hurry up,_ he orders himself, the corners of his briefcase bouncing painfully against his leg. _I can't lead them to the safe house…I'll have to lose them some other way, but how?_

He sprints another two blocks, and just as he feels his lungs begin to tire, John spots his chance in the form of a dark alleyway, the end of which is shrouded in shadow.

"Stop!" one of his pursuers shouts from behind him, but John doesn't listen, dashing into the street, intent on reaching another intersection where he can turn and lose his tails. Putting on a final burst of speed, he makes a break for the darkness at the end of the lane…only to come up hard against a brick wall.

 _Oh, sodding hell. It's a dead end_.

"We've got you now," his grey-clad tracker points out, stalking closer, his partner a dark shadow behind him. "You've got nowhere to go, so why don't you tell us what you're doing here?"

John gulps, trying to paste a look of innocence on his face. "Business trip," he tries, sticking to his cover. "I'm an accountant, and there's a conference here—"

"Nice try," his tail sneers, and John notes that the man's accent, while vaguely European, isn't German. _Oh, hell, if he's SCORPIA…_

"Really," John insists nervously, wondering if he can call for help and pass the encounter off as a mugging before he's killed or captured—

"No one's coming to help you," his pursuer asserts, and John swallows hard. "Really, you might as well give up now—"

And then John jumps as the man's eyes seem to widen in surprise before rolling back in his head as he collapses, unconscious. Looking up, he sees his other pursuer shaking out his hand, having delivered a swift blow to the back of his partner's head.

"What—" the words die in his throat as the other man slides his hood back, revealing familiar features.

"Welcome to Berlin," Alex shrugs.

* * *

Oh, I enjoyed writing this. Leave a review to let me know if you enjoyed reading it, yeah?


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: An update in the same month as the last one...I'm getting better! Hopefully this trend continues. So, in this chapter we see the return of one of my favourite characters, created by me in a previous chapter...I enjoyed writing that scene so much that I brought him back. Any guesses? Also, If any of you have suggestions for additional or missing scenes you'd like to see included in my behind-the-scenes fic, Lagniappes, let me know...there are a couple opportunities in this chapter for me to do that.

Disclaimer: Pretty standard. Berlin's also not mine, much as I wish otherwise...I'd move there if I could.

* * *

John gapes at him. "What?"

"Did you really think we'd leave you to fend for yourself in a city you've never been to, all the while trying to dodge not only any other intelligence agents here but also the world's deadliest terrorist organisation?" Alex demands, faint amusement shot through with mild irritation.

John shrugs. "I suppose I've learnt to avoid that line of thought," he says rather sheepishly. "Let the whole 'trust no one' bit get to me, I suppose."

Alex shakes his head, annoyance fading. "No, you're right…I suppose we did emphasise it, and it's good that you've got that mind-set. Anyway, we'd best get going before that one wakes up to find that I hit him."

"Won't you have broken your cover?" John asks curiously as he follows Alex out of the alley, but the other spy shakes his head.

"As long as he didn't see me, no. It'd be just as easy to pretend that someone else caught up with us and knocked us both out, but that I got up and ran…it's what he'd expect, anyway. As far as he's concerned, he doesn't know my true affiliations, so I should be fine in that regard. You, though," Alex continues, stopping and turning to John, "you need to blend a little more. New cover—forget John Rivers."

John raises his eyebrows. "Right now?"

"Have you got a better idea?" Alex returns, already tugging the coat from John's shoulders. "This cover's no use—they know who John Rivers is."

John gives up his coat willingly, watching with faint puzzlement as Alex swings it around his own shoulders. "Still in my oxford, though," John points out, gesturing to his shirt, "not to mention the trousers and tie. Don't suppose you've got a change of clothes?"

Alex grins. "Even if I had, you wouldn't need it. John Roberts, welcome to your first lesson in blending in—changing covers without changing clothes. You already know some of it—I wasn't following you for long, but you adapted to 'frantic businessman' rather well, so you should have no problem with this."

"Your confidence is reassuring," John says dryly. "We'll see if I measure up."

That prompts a huff of laughter from Alex. "You'll be fine. Now, your clothes limit our options somewhat, and since we've already eliminated businessman, I think…tired office worker. Slightly slumped shoulders, tired expression, dragging your feet just a little—that should do it."

John does as he asks without questioning it, long nights at work calling the correct posture to mind. "Good enough?" he asks when he's done, and Alex nods.

"Yeah, perfect. We shouldn't be seen anyway, but that'll do it." He turns, then, walking out of the alley and out into the street. John follows at his heels, taking care to keep his shoulders slumped over. Alex, he notes distantly, has adopted a similar posture, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair until he resembles an agitated official.

They walk on, Alex occasionally dropping snatches of conversation in German to keep up their cover as John nods and pretends to look interested, each of them surreptitiously checking for tails and any sign of suspicious activity. At last, though, Alex guides John to an unassuming block of flats, slightly faded yellow paint greeting them cheerily.

"What happened to blue shutters?" John questions under his breath, and Alex huffs a faint laugh.

"The plan was for me to tail you to that building and take care of any other pursuers without breaking my cover," he answers just as quietly, "and then I'd meet you there and bring you here. Didn't work out that way, but it should be fine." He unlocks the door with a key produced from somewhere on his body, leading John into the building. "Fourth floor," he directs in an undertone, gesturing toward the stairs. "No lift," he says, amused, as John's eyes widen at the number of steps.

They take the climb in relative silence, and John's thankful that they don't run into any other inhabitants. The adrenaline from earlier is wearing off, and he can feel his body slowing as it realises that he's no longer in danger. Finally, Alex stops in front of a door bearing the number '409,' withdrawing another key from his trouser pocket and opening the door.

"I've got a set of keys inside for you, for when you go out alone," he tells John as they enter the flat, and John's just about to ask what exactly he'd be doing out in Berlin alone when Wolf steps into the entryway, face like a thundercloud.

"What took you so bloody long?" he growls, but Alex doesn't flinch.

"We stopped for coffee. What do you think, Wolf? John picked up a tail he couldn't lose. It wasn't his fault," Alex continues, anticipating Wolf's argument. "He was good—tenacious, followed him through every evasive manoeuvre. I knocked him out."

"And if he saw you?" Wolf demands, anger still burning. "The whole mission could be compromised, not to mention the cover you've been setting up for _days—_ "

"He didn't see me," Alex retorts, and John can hear his patience stretching thin. "I came from behind, and we were gone before he woke up. I'll go over this evening or tomorrow morning to confirm my story. It's fine."

"Are you sure?" Wolf asks, still unwilling to let it go, and now it's Alex's turn to snarl.

"Do you trust me or not?" he demands, irritated. "It's only a matter of time before SCORPIA's ears tell them I'm here, anyway, so whether he saw me or not doesn't make a damned bit of difference."

 _"Doesn't make a difference—"_ Wolf's nostrils flare, and John almost jumps at the sheer frustration in the other man's face before his anger seems to suddenly drain away. "Alex," he says, and now his voice is tired, _old_. "Don't do this."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Alex returns evenly, but John can see the slight fall of his shoulders that has nothing to do with the covers they'd been using.

"Yeah, you do," Wolf counters. "If Fox were here, he'd tell you the same. You're being bloody reckless because of this mission. God knows I understand, that I'm the same way when one of my recruits comes back in a box, but after last time—"

 _"Wolf,"_ Alex growls, true warning in his voice, and the soldier halts. "Yes, I'm being reckless, but it's not because of Pearson—I'll make my peace with that later. No, this is about SCORPIA." Alex leans against the wall, as though his legs won't hold him up anymore. "You don't know, because you don't know _them_ —but their history with me is long and bloody, worse than anything I've ever gone up against."

"Then how are we supposed to do this?" Wolf demands, and Alex drags a hand over his face.

"I don't know!" he snaps back. "I know exactly what they can do, and that's why they expect me to be cautious, to tiptoe around Berlin until they find me."

"So you do what they don't expect," Wolf sighs, understanding crossing his face at last, and John feels relief echo through him as the last vestiges of fury fade from his face. "I still don't like it," he grunts, and Alex laughs sharply.

"Yeah, me either. Christ, Wolf, they've hunted me like a bloody animal, chased me down in the streets until they caught me…" he shudders, more raw emotion in his eyes than John's ever seen, and John swallows, fear knotting his stomach.

"Then what chance do we stand?" he croaks, and Alex leans back against the wall.

"What's the alternative?" he asks, dark eyes distant and bitter. "Stay in London while they send me more tapes of agents I've trained, agents I've worked with, until they're dead to a one? This is the only chance we've got, the choice they've forced us into making."

"So what do we do?" John asks, almost afraid of the answer, but a sort of determination crosses Alex's face.

"We do what we do best," he says quietly. "We _spy."_

-o-

And they do. The next few days are filled with scouting, with establishing covers and integrating themselves slowly, carefully into Berlin life. John loses himself in the rounds, learning the streets until he's got a map of Berlin stored in his head. Each evening he, Alex, and Wolf compile their information, watching the tapes from the camera they'd installed above the door and carefully constructing a plan. At last, Alex sighs, setting aside the file he'd been reading.

"We've done all we can," he says simply. "There's nothing more we can do on our own. Ben and the others will be here in a few hours—he's got other contacts in Berlin that he can meet with."

"So we wait," John says, sighing. "There's nothing we can do?"

Alex shrugs. "I've put out feelers to my informants here—people who owe me favours under one alias or another. It'll take a while for the information to start coming in, so we go back to the files until the others get here. Wolf, you make the rounds today—check the dead drops, and ask around about any suspicious activity."

The soldier nods stiffly. "Not what I signed up for when I decided on German," he grumbles good-naturedly, but he gets up anyway. "They don't know the address," he says, pausing by the door.

Alex, to John's surprise, grins, looking more light-hearted than John's seen him in days. "Don't worry about that," he says. "They'll find it."

Wolf nods. "I'm off, then. Give me a couple hours, yeah?"

"Yeah," Alex agrees. "See you."

The door closes behind Wolf, and Alex turns back to John, expression serious once more. John, seeing his expression, raises an eyebrow. "So, what couldn't you tell me when Wolf was around?"

The surprise doesn't show on his face, but Alex blinks once, slowly, then laughs a little. "You're getting better. Or maybe I'm going soft. Anyway, it's not so much that Wolf couldn't know, but that you need to and he already does. This evening, once Ben, Eagle, Tiger, and Snake get here, things will heat up." He leans forward, deadly serious, and John's reminded of the conversation he'd had with Ben the day they met Smithers—the day Alex and Ben said goodbye like they weren't coming back.

"I understand," John tries to say, but the words stick in his throat. He clears his throat, tries again, and Alex nods.

"Good. One of my contacts left this for me this morning," he continues, holding up a small drive. "It's intel on SCORPIA's presence in Berlin—the city's one of their major hubs, which is one of the reasons I chose it."

"So we're running an op under their noses?" John asks, only half-joking.

Alex laughs humourlessly. "It's better this way, trust me. We haven't got time to wait for them to show their hand, not when we don't know when the tapes are coming. It's only a matter of time before someone we recognise shows up. Anyway, you and I are going to watch this and see what kinds of details we can draw from it."

"Sounds like a plan," John says wryly.

The other spy plugs the drive into the laptop he'd bought from an MI6 supplier in the city, opening the file. A series of pictures fills the screen, snapshot after snapshot of various people. The two of them flip through the photographs, John growing increasingly frustrated, when Alex stops suddenly on one of the pictures. A delighted grin spreads across his features, and John feels his heart lift.

"Good news?" he asks, and Alex turns to him, still smiling.

"Oh, like you wouldn't believe," he says. "What do you see, John?"

John pulls the computer closer, taking in the details of the picture. "It's a bookshop," he realises. "I've passed it on my rounds—it's two streets over."

Alex nods. "That bookshop's a front for one of SCORPIA's suppliers—it's run by Eijit Binnag's sister. She was a poisons expert for SCORPIA years ago," he elaborates, "and her sister shares her loyalties. And that, John Roberts," he continues, pointing out the figure speaking to the bookshop owner, "that is—"

"Wilhelm," John breathes, recognising the man. "So he's a SCORPIA agent?"

Alex snorts. "Yeah, I'd let a SCORPIA agent pick you up from the airport. No, he was recruited by MI6—he's our Berlin station chief, loyal as they come."

"So…?" John asks.

"So SCORPIA think he's dirty," Alex finishes. "Today, John, you'll pay Wilhelm a visit and find out what he knows."

"But won't SCORPIA be watching him?" John objects. "They had me tailed the day I got here, so they know what I look like—"

"Yes, SCORPIA'll be watching him," Alex interrupts, "but they know you as John Rivers, accountant. They know it's a cover—their question now is whose side you're on. They don't know you're with us, because I got rid of your tail. You visiting Wilhelm will serve one of two purposes: either you're from another criminal organisation and looking to join SCORPIA, or you're MI6."

"But then they'll know I'm British intel, won't they?" John continues, unable to let it go. "You just said it—they'll think I'm MI6."

"And Wilhelm will tell them he's recruited you. As far as they know, you're a low-level analyst with an eye for patterns—someone the higher-ups trust simply because you're too unimportant to suspect."

Jones' words ring in John's ears. _You are the last person they would expect to be a spy in their camp._

"Okay," he agrees.

The door opens, then, halting their conversation and admitting a rather disgruntled…Tiger?

"You're back early," Alex says, mouth twitching.

Eagle follows his unitmate, glaring at Alex as Snake and Ben enter the flat behind him. "You bastard," the soldier snarls as Ben makes his way over to where Alex is sitting and whacks him around the head. Alex ducks away, laughing.

"What happened?" John asks tentatively, unsure if he wants to know the answer.

Alex looks over. "Well, their cover was a group of soldiers on leave together, yeah?" When John nods, he continues, "I arranged for one of my contacts to guide them to the other block of flats—the one with the blue shutters, yeah? Anyway, when they got there, the flat was—ah—in use."

"'In use?'" John repeats, and Eagle snarls,

"By a prostitute." A flush crawls up his neck, turning his ears red. "We—"

"—we walked in on them," Tiger finishes, amusement replacing his earlier displeasure. "She directed us to a drawer in the room that had this address, so here we are."

"And _he_ knew," Ben says, elbowing Alex.

"It was a possibility," the other spy says, amused. "I've known her for years—she's an old friend, and loyal. I wouldn't trust anyone else with the location of this flat, so her… _profession_ …has become a rather unfortunate side effect."

Tiger grins unrepentantly. "Don't think I'd mind all that much, although walking in on her is taking it a bit far. Don't tell me you've never taken advantage of that," he teases.

Alex glances at Ben before saying dryly, "I haven't, and I don't plan to." The other spy smiles faintly, meeting Alex's gaze with amusement in some joke they'd shared before John met them.

"Anyway," Snake speaks up for the first time, soft Scottish tones contrasting with the varied English accents in the room, "now that we're here, what's the plan?"

Alex shows them the photos. "This," he says, "is the MI6 Berlin station chief, Wilhelm Mendel. And that bookseller is SCORPIA—the sister of Eijit Binnag."

Ben looks up at that. "The botanist?" he asks sharply.

Alex nods, and Ben's mouth flattens into a thin line.

"Botanist?" John wonders, and Ben looks over.

"Poisons," he clarifies, and John feels his stomach twist. "Bloody hell."

"You don't say," Tiger snorts. "So we've got this station chief and this SCORPIA woman. Is he dirty?"

Alex gives a feline smile. "She thinks he is."

"So he's not?" Eagle asks, clarifying, but before Alex can answer, the door swings open.

"No," MI6's station chief says. "I am not."

* * *

So! Welcome back, Wilhelm. Let me know if you saw it coming!

(Anybody thinking of leaving without reviewing earns Wilhelm's eternal disapproval.)


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Okay, it's been about a month. I've had worse gaps, and I think I sort of make up for it with a slightly longer chapter...anyway, my goal is to update at least once a month, twice if I can manage it. I've got no shortage of ideas or good writing music, so it shouldn't be that hard...fingers crossed.

Also, if there are any scenes you want to see - suggestions, requests, plot points, whatever, feel free to let me know! I've got a companion fic for this called _Lagniappes_ , which is essentially a dumping ground for all the pieces in this fic-verse that don't fit in with my storyline for various reasons. Check it out, and drop a review or PM me if there's something you want to see.

Disclaimer: blah blah blah don't own blah blah. You know the deal.

* * *

"John Rivers," MI6's station chief says, "it is nice to see you again."

"Wilhelm," John manages. "Yeah, you too."

Ben stands from his position beside Alex, holding out a hand. "Hello, Mendel."

"Daniels," Wilhelm greets him, shaking his hand politely. "You're not dead."

Ben's smile is a quick flash of teeth. "No, I'm not. Neither are you, for that matter."

"A miracle, that," Wilhelm agrees dryly. "We both know who I can thank for it."

"You're welcome," Alex speaks up, and Wilhelm turns to him.

"You called me here for a reason, yes?"

Snake snorts. "Oh, it's a hell of a reason."

Alex turns the computer to face the station chief, and Wilhelm arches an eyebrow. "Binnag."

"She thinks you're dirty," Alex agrees. "We're going to use that."

"Why?" Wilhelm asks, hawk-like gaze missing nothing.

Ben folds himself into a chair. "Surely you've heard."

"Tell me," Wilhelm orders brusquely. "Tell me what would be so secret that Alex Rider and Ben Daniels show up in Berlin with a unit of SAS soldiers hunting SCORPIA agents."

That name again, _Rider,_ it stirs something in John's mind, but the thought dissipates as Alex hands Wilhelm a file wordlessly, the file John knows contains the stills from the video of—

"Pearson," Wilhelm breathes, horrified. "That's Pearson—he was just in Berlin a month ago."

"I know," Alex says simply, that old, tired pain returning to his voice.

Wilhelm snaps the file shut. "He was good—we needed more like him. Who trained him?"

Alex sucks in his breath as Ben says softly, "Who do you think?"

Wilhelm leans against a wall, then, eyes closing for a moment. When they open, they carry a _knowledge_ , an understanding that says that he's been exactly where Alex is. "I'm sorry."

Alex looks away. "Yeah. Me too." He clears his throat, then, and when he turns back to them, the pain is hidden behind a spy's blank mask. ' _I'll make my peace with that later,'_ Alex had said when Wolf had questioned him days ago. Looking at the other spy's face, John thinks that 'later' might very well end up being 'never.' Something in his eyes seems to signal Ben, who quietly urges the soldiers toward the other room with a last glance back at Alex.

"So," Wilhelm says after the others leave, picking up on Alex's unwillingness to talk, "what exactly is your plan?"

"John," Alex says simply. "SCORPIA knows me, and because of that they know Ben. Wolf, Eagle, Snake, and Tiger, they're not trained for undercover work—their skills would be put to much better use elsewhere, which leaves John."

"I meet with you," John speaks up, trying desperately to hide the slight tremble of his voice. "SCORPIA's monitoring you, so they'll know if I come to you. You tell them that you've recruited me."

"In reality," Alex takes over, "John's going to be our eyes inside. His army background means he's damn good at combat, and plenty of use to them as an enforcer, but his intelligence training makes him even more useful, especially undercover."

John starts at the praise, eyes sliding toward Alex in surprise, but the other man keeps his eyes on Wilhelm, dark and serious. "Well?"

Wilhelm nods slowly, and John lets out a breath.

"Okay," Alex says, sitting back. "This evening, then."

"It will be dangerous," Wilhelm warns them both, and John feels his temper rise.

"We know," he snaps. "I may be green, but I'm taking this seriously. You can be sure of that."

"This is not a game," Wilhelm tries again, and now John's had enough. _Oh, really?_ he wants to snarl.

"I am fully aware of that," he growls instead. "Do you think it hasn't been impressed upon me that every step I take is shadowed by five SCORPIA agents, that they've known I'm in this city for days, that the longer it takes for us to finish this, the more of our agents are _tortured to death?"_

Something warm enters Wilhelm's eyes after that outburst, something genuinely impressed. "John Roberts," he says, "if you ever decide that Britain is not for you, you will join me in Berlin. I could use that sort of commitment."

John swallows, nods. "Thank you."

Alex snorts. "If you two are done posturing…?"

"They'd better be done," Eagle's voice comes from the other room. "We need all three of you over here."

"What is it?" Alex asks as they step through the doorway.

"Message from Wolf," Eagle says, holding up a mobile, words as clipped and terse as always. "He's on his way back, and he's got something."

John's shoulders slump in relief. "Good news, then."

Ben's eyes are unusually serious as he says, "It might not be."

As Alex quietly explains the plan to the others, John turns his thoughts inward, doubt beginning to rise within him. _I don't know if I can do this,_ he thinks, dread rising in him. _It all rests on me. All of it. Alex said no one else can do this…if that's true, then I'm really our only chance._

Just then, the sound of the key turning in the lock of the door startles him out of his thoughts, and John ducks out of the room to see Wolf entering and locking the door behind him.

"John," he greets, and John smiles back.

"Wolf."

Wolf raises his voice, then. "Fox, get in here."

Ben steps into the room, eyebrows arched curiously. "What?"

"One of your informants," the soldier answers him, handing him a piece of paper.

Wilhelm starts at that. "Already?"

Alex shrugs. "Ben's got loads of contacts around here. The second he set foot in the city, they put their ears to the ground. What is it?" he asks, turning to his partner, and Ben looks up.

 _"You_ have to get back," he informs Wilhelm. "One of my people was watching Binnag and heard her direct someone to you for this afternoon."

Wilhelm swears colourfully, heading for the door almost before Ben finishes speaking.

"And?" Alex says as the German man leaves, watching Ben keenly.

"And SCORPIA's recruiting," Ben says quietly. "They're planning something big, Alex."

Tiger knocks a fist against the wall. "They need foot soldiers," he realises. "People to take hits, to plant evidence and cameras and provide backup."

Ben nods, but his eyes darken. "They do, and that's why our plan's got a chance of working. But this…I've never seen this on such a massive scale." He passes the note to Alex, who skims it quickly before looking up.

"I have," he counters. "They're planning something big."

Snake's brows raise in confusion. "From what you've told me, their operations don't usually warrant anything on this scale," he contradicts, crossing his arms.

Alex's mouth twitches sardonically. "They do if they're pushed far enough. I've spent the majority of my career pushing them to this point, and they're retaliating with something big."

"Something like the murder of all of MI6's moles?" John asks shrewdly, and his heart sinks as Alex's nod.

"So what do we do?" Wolf asks, the look in his eyes telling John he already knows the answer.

"We pray our plan works," Alex whispers. "And we distract them."

 _With what?_ John wonders, and then he looks into Alex's eyes, sees the resignation there, and understands.

"They're not getting you," Ben says fiercely, and John knows he's seen it too. "Not again. _Over my dead body."_

 _"Ben."_ Alex has never sounded so stern. "If it's necessary—"

Ben steps forward, then, until the distance between them is such that they're looking into each other's eyes. "I won't let you," he says quietly. "We've talked about this."

And John can see the moment Alex caves, the moment _something_ flashes between them before he nods and Ben steps away.

"Okay," Alex says. "Then the plan hasn't changed. Either way, our goal is to get that list out of their hands before they cross any more names off of it."

"What do you mean, it hasn't changed?" Eagle demands, abandoning his usually tacit nature in favour of glaring harshly at Alex. "Don't think I didn't notice your little bout of self-sacrificial martyrdom. If they know you're here, they'll start a manhunt, and our goal has to be stopping them from finding out—"

"It can't," Ben murmurs. "Our mission has to come first." He looks up, catching Eagle's eyes with his until the soldier looks away.

"SCORPIA has always been doing this for revenge," Alex continues dully. "Against me, against MI6, against everything we've ever done to them. Whether they catch me or not, we have to keep going." A bitter smile. "At least you know they won't kill me."

"That's good, then, isn't it?" John says hopefully, because there has to be something good in all of this.

Alex's eyes are dark, distant, cold. "There are things worse than death, John Roberts. SCORPIA is well-versed in them."

The silence that follows is dense, terrifying, and John feels himself shiver. He's known these men for all of a few days, and yet seeing them so hopeless, so _resigned_ to their fates sparks terror in him like nothing he's ever known.

"So," he starts awkwardly, "if the plan hasn't changed, then I'd better get ready to go see Wilhelm, hadn't I?"

The tension eases out of the room slowly, and John sees a flash of gratitude in Ben's eyes before he composes himself. "Right," Ben agrees. "Snake and I will help you. It's Alex's turn to scout."

The other spy makes a noise of protest. "Ben—"

Ben's voice brooks no argument. "You need to get out of this flat. I know as much about them as you do—enough to teach John what he needs, anyway."

"I can't," Alex tries a final time, but Ben cuts him off with a look.

"How long have you been stuck here, planning every last detail?" he murmurs, voice so low John almost can't hear him. "You need to get out of your own head, away from all this."

Alex nods, surrendering. "Okay," he sighs. "I'll go."

Ben smiles gently, worry abating slightly. "Good. John," he says abruptly, turning to face him, "you're with me."

Behind them, Alex slips noiselessly out of the flat, closing the door softly behind him. The lock clicks as Wolf turns his key in it, facing Ben after he's finished.

"So Alex is scouting, and you and Snake are training John," he starts. "Where do you want us?"

"You just got back, Wolf," Ben says instantly. "You're not going out again."

Wolf looks mutinous, but Tiger calls, "How long has it been since you've eaten, mate?" Eagle nodding beside him, and he sighs.

"Fine. You two, don't pretend you aren't just as hungry. Get your arses over here."

Tiger and Eagle follow him into the kitchen, leaving Snake and Ben to watch John.

"All right," Ben says, leaning against the wall, "tell me what you think." John's confused until he sees Snake size him up, realising the question isn't meant for him as the Scottish soldier begins to speak.

"Strong build, but not quite as broad as Wolf…good for both undercover work and enforcing, especially considering he's not built like a bloody ninja, like you and Alex," the soldier observes wryly, and Ben snorts, elbowing him.

"And?"

"Not quite as observant as he could be, but knows how to avoid tails when he spots them, judging by his agility... Can handle weapons, although he's more comfortable with a soldier's standard issue than the knives and who-knows-what's _you_ get from '6."

John gapes. "How do you know all that?"

"I'm a medic," Snake retorts. "It's my job to judge physical capability and experience in a split-second, which is why I know that you've been favouring your left ankle, John Roberts."

John winces sheepishly as Ben turns a murderous gaze on him. "Sorry? It's not that big a deal; it'll heal on its own in a few more days. Just a leftover from my, ah… _exciting_ …run-in with my tail the other day."

"When we're done here, you're letting Snake take a look at it," Ben orders, and John nods, knowing it's futile to argue.

"Good idea," Snake agrees. "Aside from that, perfectly healthy—some stiffness in the shoulders, but that's more from a lack of flexibility than anything else. He won't be able to twist himself into a ruddy pretzel like Eagle or Alex, but he'll be fine."

Ben sighs. "Alex was right, then. About you being a good fit for SCORPIA," he elaborates at the confused look John knows he's sporting. "God, I hoped he wouldn't be, but he's not usually wrong about these sorts of things."

"What do you mean, 'a good fit for SCORPIA?'" John can't resist asking, a knot of tension forming in his belly.

"It means you're exactly what they look for when they recruit," Ben answers tiredly. "Versatile, able to blend in, but without the brilliant talent that skyrockets you to the top instantly and draws a good deal of attention. Unassuming."

The words are delivered almost clinically, with a sort of cold precision. Ben's eyes seem to have shuttered, emotion draining from them until they're flat and frozen.

"Like Pearson," John almost whispers, low voice carrying in the suddenly oppressive silence.

Ben stiffens before nodding jerkily. "Like Pearson," he agrees. His eyes narrow, pupils widening until the ice blue is almost covered. "It's what got him killed, John," he hisses. "And it's what'll get _you_ killed if you aren't careful."

"It won't," Snake counters quietly, and they both turn to him, remembering his presence for the first time.

"Oh?" Ben challenges roughly, but Snake doesn't rise to the bait, merely shaking his head.

"No," he repeats. "It won't, and you know it. You're not worried that it'll get him killed, you're worried it'll get _Alex_ killed."

Ben's shoulders slump, and he leans against the wall of the room, eyes sliding closed. "How did you know?" he croaks.

Snake snorts, crossing the room until he's standing beside his friend, and John suddenly feels like he's intruding as the soldier says, "I know you, Fox. I know you and I know him; I have for _years._ It's the young ones that get to Alex, the ones like Pearson and John. And what gets to Alex gets to you."

John backs away, trying to slip unobtrusively through the door, before his skull cracks against the doorframe. He muffles a curse, but the moment is gone, the other two men turning to see him standing there rubbing his tender skull. Ben looks amused, the darkness in his blue eyes receding somewhat, and Snake seems to be torn between disapproval and amusement.

"I recommend some stealth training, eh, Fox?" he asks dryly, and John flushes. _That bad, was it?_

Ben's smile is positively feral. "Oh, I agree. John—I'll stand on this side of the room with my back to you. Snake will give you the signal, and when he does, you're to try to approach me and subdue me using the advantage of surprise."

John gulps and nods, slightly afraid of the wily smirk his temporary teacher wears. _What am I getting myself into?_ "Got it," he says aloud, refusing to give voice to his numerous doubts.

Ben grins, turning away, as Snake directs John to the door. Practically holding his breath, John steps forward, willing his steps to be as quiet as possible. Preparing to wrap his arm around Ben's neck and put him in a chokehold, he barely has time to react as the other spy spins, catching his outstretched arm and twisting it up behind him.

"Not bad," Ben hisses in his ear, "but I could hear you shifting your weight. Move with your fidgeting, not against it." He lets John up, and John stands, wincing at the bruises he's sure are forming. Ben offers him a lupine smile. "Again," he commands, and, stifling a groan, John makes his way back to the doorway.

-o-

Two hours later, they're done. John still can't sneak up on Ben, but his ankle is throbbing and his head is swimming with the information the other two have pounded into his brain and Alex is back with a message from Wilhelm. He limps over to the sofa in the other room, Snake following him with his medkit and a warning scowl as the others crowd into the room to listen to Alex's report.

They've scarcely made themselves comfortable before Alex is speaking. "Tonight at six," he says without preamble. "That's when you'll meet Wilhelm, John. Eagle?" he asks, and the soldier nods.

"This," he says, holding up one of Smithers' earwigs, "is the most bloody useful tech we have. Roberts, you'll be wearing one tonight, and you'll be connected to all of us. Tiger, Snake, Fox, and Wolf will be nearby in case something goes wrong, and Alex and I'll be here, monitoring communications."

John reaches out, accepting the earwig with a stifled gasp as the motion jostles Snake's grasp on his ankle.

"When I was out, I got one to Wilhelm," Alex speaks up. "He'll be able to hear us as well, as an extra layer of protection. Remember, though, that even with all our precautions…there's no guarantees that this will work. We have no way of knowing if they know we're here and no way to contact anyone back home without setting SCORPIA off. Be _careful_ ," he stresses, and for once John doesn't resent the implication. Instead, he nods, sees the rest of them doing the same out of the corner of his eye. "Good luck," Alex finishes, and John stands.

"Thank you," he tells Snake as his ankle supports his weight easily, and the red-haired man offers him a gruff nod.

"Wolf, Snake, Tiger, you're leaving first," Alex orders. "Wolf's scoped the place out on his rounds, so you should have no problems getting there. Once you're there, I don't care if you stay together or split up—whatever you think is best. Chat up a girl, find a vantage point in some pub, whatever it takes. Ben will join you later."

Wolf nods. "Time to go, Snake!" he calls, and the medic makes his way over to where his unitmate is standing with Tiger, each of them accepting an earwig from Eagle before they leave together.

A hand claps him on the shoulder, and John whirls, expecting a fight. He's met with Ben's raised eyebrows, and he deflates, sagging against the wall. "Sorry."

Ben snorts. "Nerves shot to hell, eh?" he asks rhetorically. "Don't worry about it. Just remember why you're doing this, why _you_ out of all the people in MI6 are here."

And John thinks of the stills from Pearson's video, of the thinly-veiled desperation in Jones' eyes, of the fire that burns in him and says _no more_. He nods. "Okay."

"Good man," Ben smiles grimly, squeezing John's arm before heading over to Alex.

"Be careful," the blond spy says, so quiet John has to read his lips to know what he's saying. "If you die out there, I will _never_ forgive you."

Ben's mouth turns up in a half-smile. "Good thing I'm not planning on dying," he murmurs back, and then John is watching Alex watch Ben walk out the door. After half a minute, the spy turns to him.

"Your turn," John, he says, and John walks over, pinning the proffered tiny camera to his collar. "Remember," Alex continues, "a single EMP pulse will knock out both earwig and camera—if that happens, don't panic. You'll be _fine_ ," he promises as John sucks in a breath. "As far as they're concerned, you don't know all that much about SCORPIA besides the fact that they exist and they need people. It's just a few hours, nothing more, and then you'll be back here."

John nods, nerves slightly assuaged, and walks out of the apartment. _I'm really doing this,_ he thinks as he takes the stairs. _This is real. It's not a game._ He navigates the streets, Alex's tinny voice in his ear reminding him of the turns he needs to take and to check for tails, he smiles at an old lady and shoves his hands in his coat pockets, the image of a man out for an evening stroll.

When he reaches his destination, an unassuming beige building, he doesn't bother hesitating before he enters even as he reminds himself _, People die doing this job._ And when he's knocking on the door that leads to the conference room where he's been told to meet, when Wilhelm opens the door and motions him in without a hint of recognition, when Alex says _"Good luck"_ and goes silent, he hears Ben's voice.

 _Remember why you're doing this_.

John takes a deep breath. "I want to join SCORPIA."

* * *

And we've finally gotten a bit of action. Things should progress pretty quickly from here.

Don't forget to review or PM me if you think of something you'd like me to write - all suggestions are welcome. Even memes.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: _Wow._ I've been gone a lot longer than I meant to.. _again._ Not sure if anyone cares about my excuses, but I just got a new laptop and I've been desperately trying to transfer all of my files before I leave for uni in three days, so I just got this chapter back today, cleaned it up a little, and now I'm sending it on its way!

Disclaimer: I haven't suddenly acquired the rights to Alex Rider in the last two months. I don't even own _Never Say Die,_ yet.

(Is anyone still reading this? If so, I'd love it if you could leave me a review assuring me of that fact. Encouragement and feedback are really what keep me going, these days.)

* * *

Somehow, John makes through the meeting, despite spending the entire time half-convinced the people he knows are watching can hear his heart galloping in his chest. It's all he can do to accept the burner phone Wilhelm hands him, to nod acknowledgement when the other agent informs him that instructions will be texted to him, to shake his hand without glancing at the scrap of paper Wilhelm presses into his slightly sweaty palm. Wilhelm watches him with those dark eyes, and John tries to calm his heart, still all too aware of the cameras SCORPIA no doubt has planted in the room. Finally, MI6's station chief nods at him.

"Welcome to SCORPIA," he says quietly, and if John were any less terrified of the consequences, he'd be drunk on victory.

Then he's out, walking back through the streets and toward the flat where Alex and Eagle are waiting, and he feels like laughing, because they did it, _he_ did it. He can't help the grin he sends Ben, who's leaning against a wall and flashing white teeth at a pretty brunette, or the quiet whoop he lets out when he's climbing the stairs to the flat.

The moment he enters, Alex raises a finger to his lips. _"Give me the phone,"_ he mouths, and John complies readily, watching as the other spy hands the device to Eagle.

The soldier wastes no time in prying the phone open, picking expertly through circuits and wires until he gives a quiet _"Ha!"_ and pulls out a blinking light. John opens his mouth, but Eagle shakes his head instantly.

 _"Not yet,"_ he mouths, and John subsides as Eagle turns back to the chip he'd withdrawn, connecting it to a port on his laptop. Finally, the man looks up and nods, and John lets out a sigh, slumping back against the wall.

"Listening device?" he asks, and Eagle nods.

"I've scrambled it," he explains tersely. "All they're getting from us is a load of white noise—best I could do for now. It's got a distress function that broadcasts a location signal if we smash it."

Alex nods. "Good. We'll have to find a way to get rid of it later. Anything else?" he asks, looking at John expectantly, and John suddenly remembers the message Wilhelm had pressed into his hand.

He unfolds the scrap of paper, frowning at the single line of text—

 _They suspect. Hide your records._

"Oh, _shit,"_ he swears, shoving he piece of paper into Alex's hand. "Bloody hell, it hasn't even been a _day—"_

"How did they know?" Eagle demands, having read the message over Alex's shoulder.

"The tail," Alex answers wearily. "Christ, I should have guessed. They saw you on your first day here when you got rid of that tail." And then something seems to occur to him, because he grins, tension falling out of his shoulders.

"What?" John asks eagerly, because Alex looks like Christmas has come early, the worry that had weighed him down disappearing and leaving him lighter, relieved.

"If their suspicions are based on the fact that you dodged a tail, all the better for us. It makes you _more_ valuable to them."

"But I didn't dodge the tail," John argues.

"They _think_ you did," Alex counters instantly. "And that's what matters. Think about it—our greatest strengths so far have come from SCORPIA assuming one thing when another is actually true. The only reason we were even able to find a way in was because SCORPIA think Wilhelm's dirty. They've known you're some sort of operative since the day you ditched your tail—that hasn't changed. The only difference is that now they suspect an infiltration."

John huffs, exasperated. _This makes no bloody sense._ "Isn't the whole point to stop them from thinking we're infiltrating them?"

"Yes, but in this case, it's easy to spin another way." The answer comes from Eagle, whose face mirrors the realisation on Alex's. "You'd just have to convince them that you actually _want_ to join SCORPIA—that your skills can be useful to them."

And now John understands why the other two are so pleased…because if he pulls this off, if he convinces them—

"They'll trust me," he says aloud. "The more skilled I am, the more important the jobs they'll give me…the better our chances of finding something." He grins exultantly, and Alex claps him on the back.

"Well _done,_ John Roberts."

The door opens just then, admitting Tiger and Ben.

"Are we celebrating?" the SAS soldier asks, clearly noticing the looks of relief the three of them are exchanging.

"We are," Alex laughs, quickly filling the other two in as Wolf and Snake join them and Eagle apprises them of the situation.

A buzz from the phone Eagle had left half-dismantled on the table brings John out of his pleased bubble. The text is from a blocked number, nothing but a time and place.

"What's going on?" Wolf questions him, smile melting into a frown. "Don't tell me something's gone wrong."

"Nothing wrong," John tries to shrug. "Just—time and place for the next meeting. It's in two days, in the same place."

Ben sighs. "Damn. They're not stupid enough to give you directions to their Berlin HQ, more's the pity…they'll probably have someone there to take you to the actual meeting point."

"Hey, Alex," John starts, a thought occurring to him, "you were part of my SCORPIA tail my first day here—couldn't you get them to put you on it?"

"You _what?"_ Wolf demands angrily, but Alex ignores him.

"That wasn't a SCORPIA tail," he explains dryly. "Give me some credit, Wolf—I'm not mad enough to hand myself over to the people who've been hunting me for years."

"If they weren't SCORPIA," John jumps in, "why would SCORPIA care that I ditched them? Hang on, why would they be tailing me in the first place?"

Ben shrugs. "Berlin is SCORPIA's city. They want to know everyone that goes in and out of its gates, but their people are too… _specialised…_ to be tailing anyone and everyone. Essentially, they outsource the more menial jobs to local gangs, the criminal underworld, etc. If you hadn't noticed the tail, that would've been it. The fact that you _did_ put you on their radar."

"And then I hand-delivered myself to them," John completes, sighing. "So now what?"

"Tracker's our best bet," Eagle shrugs. "Can't say for certain, not with the potential of an EMP taking it out, but it's all we've got."

"Once we know where it is, we can case it," Alex agrees. "We'll need eyes and ears on the inside to even figure out if anything's there."

"None of that's going to be possible if we screw this meeting up," Ben points out dryly. "We need some kind of planning and preparation."

Alex nods his agreement, but before he can say anything, Snake cuts in, brogue exceptionally stern as he says, "Not tonight. We've got all of tomorrow to work on this…we all need to catch up on our sleep."

Even John knows better than to argue with the soldier when he's glaring like that, and silently, they all make for their respective sleeping places. They divide the watches quietly, and if his stomach were less tied up in knots, John would laugh at the equally protective and apoplectic glares that cross Wolf's face when Eagle tries to claim a second watch.

Somehow, he feels… _comfortable_ , here in this Berlin flat. It's not a home, not by a long shot—there isn't a single part of him that can forget that he's not in London, he's in Berlin trying to catch a few hours of sleep before he goes back to plotting against the most dangerous terrorist organisation in the world. It's not home, but it means something, sharing this life with these men, working toward a goal bigger than any of them.

-o-

The day before his second meeting with SCORPIA starts out relatively simply—a coffee run by Ben, who'd been on the last watch, followed by the usual grousing from a still-groggy Tiger and Wolf's steadily rising impatience with the other soldier's lack of energy. Amid the faint laughter and tiredness, there's a sense of urgency in all of them, the reminder of their looming deadline lingering in all their minds.

The tension between all seven of them is thick enough to be almost visible, each and every one of them on edge. John really, really shouldn't be so surprised when Alex leans against the kitchen counter and says, "Talk."

"Wilhelm said 'hide your records,'" John starts, frowning. "What does that mean—my bank accounts? My GCSEs?"

"Your status as an agent," Alex explains. "SCORPIA will be digging into your file now, trying to dredge up as much as they can. If they find out you're an agent, we're done before we've even started."

"They've been at this since yesterday and we're just talking about this _now?"_ John yelps, horrified, but Wolf growls,

"Calm _down,_ idiot. I'm sure these two've been filling your head with tales about how SCORPIA's the worst out there," he continues, indicating Alex and Ben, "but '6 is no slouch either, yeah? We've got some time."

"All right," John acknowledges sheepishly, scrubbing at the back of his neck. "So how do we stop them from finding me?"

A truly wicked smile spreads over Ben's face. "We blacklist you."

John stares. _Excuse me?_ "You're _joking,"_ he says at last, blinking slowly. "You—you can't be serious!"

"Why not?" Snake speaks up, a thoughtful frown twisting his forehead. "We wouldn't even have to hide the fact that you're an agent—we'd just change _are_ to _were._ It would explain your skills and give you a reason to join SCORPIA."

"Oh, they'd love it," Alex agrees. "They've got a thing for agents seeking revenge." His tone is oh-so-slightly bitter, hinting at wounds long-buried, and John is reminded again that for Alex this isn't some _mission_ , that this time it's dangerous. Personal.

"Okay, so we blacklist me. What next?" John asks, more to break the silence than anything else.

"Cover," Ben says instantly. "Your file will give us most of the details, but we've got to put something together that'll make it plausible that you're defecting and give you a reason to be in Berlin."

"Well," John starts tentatively, "I've already got the accountant bit, yeah? Could be a starting point?"

It sounds thin even to his own ears, and Alex frowns. "There's no real way to make that realistic, though. The problem with an accountant is the serious lack of overlap between it and other more… _military…_ professions. It's easy to pass off a soldier as ex-military or ex-spec ops; far harder to explain turning a paper-pusher into an assassin. Also, it'd create all kinds of holes in our story—what, you defected from MI6 only to return to your previous job as a paper-pusher? When any of the world's criminal organisations would've snapped you up in a heartbeat?"

John grimaces. "Yeah, fair point. So how do we reconcile the fact that I came into Berlin as a ruddy accountant with the fact that I just sought out SCORPIA yesterday?

"Well," Wolf starts, "they'll know you're an agent, right? Could we just pass it off as another cover—a way to get in undetected?"

"That…might work," Ben says slowly, tapping his fingers against the wall thoughtfully. "The best lies are rooted in the truth, right? All we're doing is…twisting it. We make you exactly what you are: an MI6 agent posing as an accountant to get into Berlin undetected. It'd explain how you know Mendel, too…two dirty '6 agents, yeah?"

Alex's nod settles it. "Right. That's what we'll do, then. Eagle—you're going to get into MI6's files and mark John as disavowed. Ben, take Tiger and see if your informants can give us any new information. The rest of us…we're going to think of a reason for John Roberts to hate MI6." A wry smile twists his mouth. "How hard can it be?"

* * *

Not sure how many people read that...but to those of you who did, I hope you enjoyed it! Even if you didn't, please leave me a review letting me know that you're out there and reading my work. I don't say this enough, but reviews really, really mean the absolute _world_ to me.

Much love,

nrynmrth


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